That was my plan, anyway.
At Black Pine Jail, Ian checked me in. My heart pounded with each step to the visitation room. Sweat inched up my neck and into my hairline. By the time, Ian escorted me through the double set of doors to the visitation room, my teeth chattered. A series of vending machines ran along the back wall. Knee-high tables with connected stools were bolted to the floor. And the walls were rainbow-striped.
I whirled on him. “Hold up. Where are the windows and phones? This looks like a cafeteria for juvie kindergartners.”
“We’re getting video chat booths if the next SPLOST referendum passes,” said Ian amicably. “But we’ll continue to use this room for family visits, depending on the inmate’s visitation rights.”
“I don’t want to talk to Roger Price in person. I want to talk to him on a phone through a window.”
“Maizie, I’ve pulled strings for this. He’s an ATF suspect,” said Ian. “You have fifteen minutes and I’m really hoping you get some information from him.”
“He’s no suspect. He’s the real deal. I watched him walk in that bank with a bomb.”
“Hon’,” Ian grasped my shoulders and forced me to look at him. “Why are you so afraid of Roger Price? He’s a loser.”
“I’m not afraid.” I swallowed. Or tried to swallow, but my tongue had thickened. “This is me angry.”
Ian looked doubtful. “I’ll be right behind you if you need me.”
I took a stool and waited with the other visitors. A buzzer announced the prisoners. I chewed on my thumbnail then spotted stocky, pimple-faced, twenty-one-year-old Roger Price. He looked like he’d slept even less than me.
And just saying, orange was not his color.
Roger stared at his feet until a guard forced him to my table. With his hands still cuffed behind his back, he slowly sank onto the stool across from me.
I cleared my throat. “We only have fifteen minutes. Let's begin.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m one of two private investigators hired by your mother to follow you. The other is still in the hospital because of the bomb you set off in the bank. He saved your life. He was in a coma until yesterday.”
At “mother,” Roger began to cry.
This was not the reaction I wanted. Which was totally unfair. This week of hell was his fault. He’d gotten his mother murdered. Which I’d planned on reminding him, but now felt like I didn’t want to mention it and cause more tears.
“Roger, I’m sorry about your mom,” I said in my Clarice Starling-minus-the-West-Virginia-accent voice. “But Leslie wouldn’t talk to me either. She wrote ‘help us’ on a check memo and I had no idea why. And before I could ask her, she was killed. I know you can tell me who did it. Justice for your mother, Roger. That’s why I’m here.”
Roger began sobbing. Loud enough that the burly inmate at the next table shot me a death glare.
I glanced over my shoulder at Ian. He raised his eyebrows but kept his expression impassive. I could not Clarice Starling Roger Price. We weren’t going to get to the quid pro quo.
“Roger, please stop crying.”
His sobbing intensified to bawling.
Abandoning my Clarice pretense, I reverted to plain old Maizie. “You’ve got to get a hold of yourself. Please, I need to know who you’re working with.”
He shook his head and tried to rub his snot and tears onto his orange shoulder.
“Roger, this has been the worst week of my life. I couldn’t protect your mom. I couldn’t help some teens find their friend. I couldn’t wake my boss from his coma. His ex-wife did that. And now these men, your accomplices, are after me, too. My little sister was in danger. You’ve got to help me. Who worked the bank job with you? Was it Everett Lawson?”
“It wasn’t meant to go off.” His voice shook. “I wasn’t supposed to rig it to go off. But I did anyway. I don’t know why I did it, but I’m sorry.”
He sounded sorry. I wasn’t prepared for a remorseful Roger and felt my own tears stirring. “But Roger, who helped you? Crispin Jonson?”
“Nobody.” He shook his head. “I made it by myself.”
“Not the bomb. Who helped you rob the bank?”
“Nobody.” Roger bent over and laid his cheek against the table. His arms stuck out behind him like ski poles. “I was alone.”
“But Roger, I saw the men at your house. The ones who probably killed your mom. I know you didn’t act alone.”
“I was just supposed to take the bomb into the bank. It wasn’t supposed to go off.”
“What about Crispin Jonson? Did you work with him?”
Roger attempted a shrug. “We made a robot together in high school.”
Ian tapped me on the shoulder. “Your time is up.”
“Roger was going to tell me who told him to take the bomb into the bank. Weren’t you, Roger?”
His face mashed against the table, Roger repeated, “It wasn’t supposed to go off.”
Ian sighed. “That’s all he’s said since he’s been here. His lawyer can’t get anything else out of him either.”
“Roger, don’t leave me hanging. I’m counting on you.”
His head rose from the table. Tears rolled off his cheeks and plopped on to the laminate top. “Please, help me. I didn’t mean for it to go off.”
The guard collected Roger. Ian led me back through the double doors.
“I really thought he’d tell me,” I said. “His mom basically said the same thing.”
“Doesn’t matter if it was meant to go off or not, that boy is in a lot of trouble. He built the bomb and he took it into the bank.”
We took the breezeway from the jail to the police station and huddled at Ian’s desk.
“Could he have been coerced or forced?” I chewed a nail. “Threatened?”
“If he had been forced, he should be squealing,” said Ian. “It’s obvious there are other people involved. He’s scared. We keep telling him that we can protect him if he talks.”
“Protected like his mother?”
* * *
While Ian attended morning roll call, I sat at his desk and phoned Lamar. Nash had checked out of the hospital and returned to the office. My spirits rose, then plummeted when Lamar said Jolene insisted on staying at the office with him to make certain he didn’t work. Feeling low, I called LA HAIR. I needed my girlfriends. And their forgiveness.
“Where’ve you been?” said Rhonda.
“I’m at the police station,” I said, then waited while jostling and grunting ensued. A few seconds later, I was put on speaker.
“Arrested again?”
“I’m being babysat until an arrest happens. I finally saw Roger Price. He told me nothing more than the bomb wasn’t meant to go off.”
“Well, that’s stupid,” said Tiffany. “Why would you build a bomb that wasn’t meant to go off?”
“If I was going to rob a bank,” said Rhonda. “I’d build a gun, not a bomb.”
“Can you build a gun?” said Tiffany. “Don’t you make a gun?”
“The point is who robs a bank with a bomb that’s not supposed to go off?”
“Right,” I said. “Roger said he wasn’t supposed to ‘rig it to go off.’ Which means someone gave him those instructions.”
“Who?” said Rhonda.
“He won’t say who, but the ATF are searching for three suspects. And get this, one is Chandler Jonson’s brother.”
“No. Bigfoot Hottie’s brother is a bank robber?”
“Crispin wasn’t actually at the bank. I don’t think. He’s just hanging out with some dude who might have killed Roger’s mother.”
“This is very confusing,” said Tiffany.
“Tell me about it,” I said. “Hey, I actually called to say I’m sorry.”
“For what?” said Rhonda.
“For getting angry at you two when I didn’t want to deal with the Prices. You were right.”
“Lawd,” said Tiffany. “I didn’t give it a sec
ond’s thought. Rhonda’s always mad at me.”
“Tiff’s right,” said Rhonda. “She gets all up in my grill every second of the day. Maizie, you take everything so personal. You’ve got to let things go. Tequila helps with that. Just sayin’.”
“But now Roger’s mother is dead. Roger might be in danger if he doesn’t let the police help him. It’s all my fault because I was too caught up in my own stuff.” I sniffled.
“Are you crying again? Rhonda, this girl cries way too much.”
“Maizie, you might have let Roger’s mother killed,” said Rhonda. “And you can’t do much about crazy Roger Price getting shanked…”
I winced.
“But you still have Chandler Jonson out there. If his dumbass brother is hanging with bank robbers, seems to me you need to get on that.”
Forty-Five
#SlippingInASlip #Grrrling
To get on with Chandler Jonson, I needed to get out from under Detective Ian Mowry’s eye. When Ian returned, I asked for a release from his babysitting. “I’m going to cramp your style, sitting at your desk all day.”
“It’s not a problem.” He swiveled in his desk chair and reached for a thick stack of files.
“I’ll get super bored and drive you crazy.”
“Everett Lawson is still at large. And your unnamed gunman.”
“Your coworkers will think you have a thing for me.”
“They know why you’re here.” He opened his laptop without looking at me.
“I’ll act out Julia Pinkerton scenes in the break room. I’ll flirt with the desk sergeant.”
“We don’t have a desk sergeant.” He narrowed his eyes. “What are you up to?”
“I want to work on the Chandler Jonson case. There’s a reason he hung around Wellspring.”
“I thought the reason was Bigfoot and something about chickens.”
“His brother was also involved with bank robbers. Or at least knew one. Maybe there’s a connection.”
“Between bank robbers and Wellspring?” He shrugged.
“You can’t play innocent. You think so, too. Everett Lawson was hanging out at Wellspring.”
Ian leaned back in his chair. “Which is why I’m not taking you back to Wellspring.”
“Come on, Ian. Isn’t ATF conducting an investigation there anyway?”
“Exactly, we’ll be in the way. Agent Langtry has her chosen people and I’m not one of them.” He sighed then leaned forward, settling his forearms on his thighs. “Look, let's say Chandler was interested in Wellspring for non-Bigfoot reasons—”
I bobbed my head. “Maybe it was because he wanted to know why his brother was hanging out with Everett Lawson. And Chandler was watching Everett Lawson.”
“Hang on, you’ve seen Crispin eating a donut at the same table with the unnamed perp. And according to your testimony, the suspect shoved Crispin out of the way to try to enter Jolene’s office. Crispin didn’t run like the other guy. We picked him up. That’s a tenuous connection between Crispin and Everett Lawson.”
“According to Nash, I can work with tenuous because I don’t have to prove anything in court. I just have to find Chandler.”
“You think Everett Lawson is going to lead you to Chandler?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I sighed. “I don’t have much else to go on.”
“We questioned Crispin. He has credible alibis for the bank robbery and the Price murder.”
“There had to be some reason Chandler was so obsessed with Wellspring. I want to talk to Crispin again.”
“No.” He turned back to his computer.
“Ian, you’re no fun.”
“I’m a cop. I think you forget that.” He swiveled in his chair to face me. “You’ve lied to me, Maizie.”
“More like I haven’t told you the whole truth on several occasions. And I hated doing it. But I didn’t want you to worry about me either.”
“I think you didn’t want to get in trouble. Did you illegally enter the Jonson home?”
“I’m taking the fifth. Remember I’m on probation.” I gave him my Maxim smile and a slow wink.
He glared at me. “You’re right. You’re going to drive me crazy. Where else can I take you?”
“How about LA HAIR? No one’s going to look for me in a beauty shop.”
* * *
While Ian waited with his laptop and stack of folders in the waiting room, I slipped onto the salon chair closest to the sinks. On the far end, stylists Jenna and Shelly applied color and highlights to their clients while shooting Tiffany and Rhonda dirty looks.
Considering Tiff and Rhonda had abandoned their stations to crowd around me and gossip, I kind of didn’t blame them.
Rhonda fingered my hair. “How’d they get your hair so soft?”
“You cheated on us.” Tiffany picked up my hand and examined my manicure. “They did a good job.”
“It was the spa at Wellspring.” I batted them away from examining my skin. “I was doing an undercover thing.”
Tiffany snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“Okay, Oliver treated me.” Rhonda opened her mouth, but I held up a finger. “I know what you’re going to say. I don’t have time. I need to get out of here.”
“You just got here,” said Rhonda.
“I need to get away from Ian. Detective Mowry. I want to go back to Wellspring, but he won’t let me out of his sight. I’m going crazy. I need your help in giving him the slip.”
Tiffany brightened. “I like it.”
“Not because he’s a cop. He’s too worried about my safety. I’d ask Oliver to pick me up, but Ian’s not a fan.”
“I’m not a fan either,” said Rhonda. “Take my car.”
“Oliver’s been trying to make things up to me. He’s been really sweet.”
“That’s what Tiffany said about her ex-husband when she got back together with him the second time.”
“Love makes you stupid. Don’t be stupid,” said Tiffany. “And don’t date guys who say they’re picking up pizza and rob a convenience store on the way home. Never works out.”
“Fine, I’ll take Rhonda’s car. Thank you, Rhonda.”
“What do you want us to do?” said Rhonda.
We bent our heads together, shifting glances at Ian who was, thankfully, ignoring us to catch up on paperwork.
Ten minutes later, Rhonda had covered my body in a cape, my hair in a towel, and slathered my face with mud. She walked me to the row of sinks and helped me to lean back against the porcelain. I fought the crick in my neck, closed my eyes, and focused on shallow breaths through the mud caked around my nose. Three minutes later, I sensed someone next to me. I opened an eye and spotted a caped figure also leaning back against a sink. Twenty seconds later, I heard a crash and roll of plastic bottles.
Taking that as my cue, I sat upright. Ian had bent under his chair, retrieving bottles of shampoo. A large box lay tipped on its side. Behind him, Rhonda kicked another shampoo bottle under his seat.
I hopped from the chair and darted to the door behind the sinks. Next to me, Tiffany slid over to the chair I’d occupied. Green mud covered her face. A towel had been wrapped around her blue ombré asymmetrical bob. A cape hid her body.
In the back room, I tore off the cape, rubbed the hardening mud from my face with the towel, and grabbed my backpack, conveniently left at the door by Rhonda.
I felt bad for deceiving Ian Mowry. He was a sweetie. But it was time to put on my big girl panties. I didn’t need these men to hide behind. I’d played Julia Pinkerton and Kung Fu Kate. All Grrrl girls.
Well, okay, they were literally girls. Like twelve and sixteen. But still.
Forty-Six
#LookAtMeImSandraDee #OliverYouForever
I knew there was some connection between Roger Price and Crispin Jonson. And in my bones, I felt that something was the reason Chandler Jonson was missing.
Ian wasn’t stupid. I felt terrible about tricking him. I might have ruined our friendship.
And got into more trouble with Gladys. It wouldn’t take him long to figure out what I’d done. I sped to Crispin Jonson’s house. Parked two doors down and watched the windows. Saw movement. Bolted to the porch and rang the bell.
A woman answered the door. I hid my surprise.
“Mrs. Jonson?”
She smiled.
“Is Crispin home?”
“Sorry, just missed him. He left town to be with his dad. Mike’s shooting a documentary on butterflies in Mexico.”
“Mexico?” How convenient. “When did he leave?”
“Early this morning. Flew out to meet his father. It was a big surprise.”
I bet. “Have you heard from Chandler?”
“Not yet,” she said. “But I’m sure it’ll be soon. Chan had a ticket to Mexico. I’m sure he plans to hook up with his dad once he’s done exploring.”
“How can you be so sure? I’ve been looking for him.” I explained the case with the teens.
“Oh my,” she said. “I didn’t realize they’d attached to Chan like that. He’s a great guy but not always responsible. When his YouTube channel went viral, we were happy for him. But he gets bored easily, so it didn’t surprise us much that he’d quit.”
“I think it’s more serious than that. Actually, I think something might have happened to Chandler because of Crispin.”
“Crispin?”
“Crispin’s been seen with an unknown man who’s connected to the attempted bank robbery that happened last week. And possibly the murder of the bank robber’s mother. They’re about the same age.”
“But—” she stopped. “I need to call my husband.”
“Please, do. I’m sure the police told Crispin not to leave town. There’s no evidence he’s done anything, but the police are still investigating.”
Her mouth rounded into an O and she paled. “Crispin didn’t say—”
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