Coffee, Kids, and a Kidnapping (A Charlotte Ritter Mystery Book 1)

by Alyssa Helton

  “Mr. Tipton?” Cole asked in his deep, booming voice.

  “Who wants to know?” Randy hollered back, still leaning back in his chair.

  “The Baker Law Firm. We’re handling the adoption of your nephew, Maddox. Ms. Charlotte, here, needs to ask you a few questions,” Cole informed Randy while motioning in my direction. I stuck my hand in the air, confirming I was the lady with the questions.

  “I’ve already answered all your questions and filled out all kinds of paperwork. What ya’ll need now?”

  Randy was clearly agitated. He tossed his cigarette on the ground and stomped on it.

  “Well, Sir,” I began, and then had to clear my throat. “There’s a potential problem involving your wife.”

  “What kind of problem?” he snapped back, quickly standing.

  “You see, she’s biologically related to Maddox and as such, has rights to take over his guardianship. This could jeopardize the pending adoption. I really need to get in touch with her so she can sign the appropriate papers and we can move forward.”

  “If you’re lookin’ for Amber, then why are you here? She’s missing! I’d have thought you’d know that.”

  “I am fully aware that she and your daughter, Lily, are both missing. I’m sure you’re very upset about it—“

  “Amber’s nothin’ but a trouble maker. I ain’t exactly heartbroken she’s gone,” Randy admitted.

  “Understood. But, Lily…she’s only seven and your baby girl. That’s gotta be tough.”

  Randy squinted at me; attempting to get a read on my angle.

  “I’m a father myself,” Cole added. “Can’t imagine not having my little girl around.”

  “I get by,” Randy muttered, pulling another cigarette from the pack and lighting it.

  “We were hoping you might have some ideas as to where we could find Amber and Lily. It would help us with this adoption case, and could maybe lead to you seeing your little girl again.”

  We stood in awkward silence for a few moments. I had just about given up hope when Randy Turpin began to speak.

  “Well, ya know…those druggies that Amber’s sister hung around. The ones that ran that meth lab?”

  “The lab that blew up, killing Maddox’s parents?”

  “Yeah, that one. Those druggies that were over there, they have other labs, too. And they’re real violent types. Amber had caused some trouble with them. She kept trying to get her sister Autumn away from all that mess. I don’t think it set well with them.”

  “So you’re suggesting these druggies might know where Amber and Lily are? Maybe they did something to them?”

  “It’s possible,” Randy said with a shrug.

  “Did you tell this to the police?” Cole asked.

  “I mentioned it.”

  “Know where we can find these people; these druggies?”

  “Not really. Look at some of the vacant houses ‘round here. Lots of meth labs are set up in foreclosed homes and there’s plenty of those.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, sarcastically.

  Cole nodded towards the car. He thanked Randy for his time and we turned to leave. I glanced back over my shoulder to see Randy spit on the ground and pull out his cell phone to make a call.

  “He’s definitely shifty,” Cole whispered. “Something’s weird about him and his story.”

  “See!” I responded. “Even the sergeant I spoke with said Randy Tipton knew more than he was saying.”

  “Let’s get back to the office. I have some ideas on how to locate the meth dealers.”

  “You think they’re actually involved?” I asked as Cole opened the car door for me.

  “I think it’s worth investigating. I’ll tell you my thoughts on the way to pick up my car…and maybe more coffee.”

  We hurried through the office door only to be greeted by the greatest of horrors. Okay, she’s probably not the greatest horror, but I’m sure she’s a close second. Our new paralegal, who was hired to ease Cole’s work load, had become my nemesis of sorts. Ginny Wilson was thirty-five and a mother of seven year old twin boys; a tall blonde wearing a messy bun, high heels, a fancy manicure and always with a high-priced fancy coffee drink in her hand. She almost always seemed to casually mention how she didn’t need to work because her husband was such a great provider. No, she worked as a paralegal in our firm because she “wanted to help children.” Every time she started in with her rehearsed monologue, I imagined “In the Arms of an Angel” playing in the background. It was enough to make you nauseated.

  Now, I know this makes me sound cynical and maybe even resentful, but hear me out. This woman has a way of grating on nerves that would make Job lose patience.

  “You two are arriving late! We have a difficult case to prepare for!” she hissed.

  “We’ve actually been working, thank you,” Cole replied, rolling his eyes. “I started working on that case yesterday, by the way. You weren’t here.”

  She glared at him, obviously annoyed. “I only work three days a week, Cole. You know, I don’t need to be here. My work here isn’t just a job. It’s my passion.”

  I could see in Cole’s face that he was ready to pounce on this subject by bringing-up (not for the first time) that she could always work pro bono. Since their last confrontation lasted an entire day, I decided to intervene.

  “Cole, we need to go over some information before you start on that new case today, remember?”

  Ginny butted-in. “What information?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I snapped. Then I more gently added, “You have enough on your plate with that new case. We’ll be done in a bit, and Cole will be all yours.”

  I led Cole to my office with a sly grin on my face.

  “What was that? ‘All yours.’ Thanks for handing me over to the enemy,” Cole remarked.

  I giggled. “You’re welcome. Now, how do we find these drug dealers?”

  “I put in a call to a buddy of mine that’s a cop. If we can get some names from the meth lab explosion investigation, then we have a better chance of finding these people. We could even get descriptions if they have a record and were questioned or a person of interest. And if we can get that kind of information …”

  “We can find them!”

  Just as my fingers hit the computer keyboard, the phone rang. Cole answered.

  “Baker Law.” He listened for a second and then waved his hand in front of my face. Having my full attention, he silently mouthed “it’s Randy” and began scribbling on a notepad he grabbed off my desk.

  “Okay, thanks for the tip,” Cole said, wide-eyed, before hanging up.

  “More information?” I asked, grabbing the notepad from Cole’s hands.

  “He suddenly remembered that one of the guys that oversaw the meth lab had a noticeable tattoo.”

  “That’s convenient,” my sarcastic reply as I scanned Cole’s notes. “Large gator head with open mouth on his left shoulder. Yeah, I’d say that’s noticeable.”

  “Once my buddy calls me back, I’ll ask him for drug-related convicts with gator tattoos. That should narrow our search.”

  “But doesn’t this seem a bit…opportune?”

  “It could be that Randy is sending us on a goose chase, sure. But, it could also be that he’s mixed up with these people and couldn’t just turn them in. Maybe he wants us to investigate because then we’d be the ones to find them and turn him in; not him.”

  “Interesting perspective,” I admitted. “He just doesn’t seem the type to be scared into silence. Still, you’re right that it’s worth digging a little deeper.”

  “Of course, we’re just doing research here…no real investigating. That’s for the police to do.”

  I gave Cole my pouty face and slumped my shoulders. “Fine.”

  He just rolled his eyes and took a gulp of coffee to bolster his defenses against Ginny and her inflated ego.

  Having managed to finish those forms of Cole’s I had promised to do, as well my own work on t
he new custody case, I left work to get home to the kids. Cole was still on the phone with his cop friend, but gave me a wink as I walked out the door. I hoped that meant he was getting good intel. My three cups of coffee were the maximum I would usually allow myself, but I pulled into the McDonald’s drive-thru for one more pick-me-up. Ginny had whined all afternoon about her hyperactive twins and how her manicurist was out sick so she got stuck with someone new and therefore incompetent. That woman sucked the life out of me, and I needed energy to face the mountain of laundry that awaited me.

  Joseph met me at the door with a hug and a weird grin.

  “Hey, Mom, glad you’re home!”

  I was immediately suspicious. “Hey, buddy. What’s up?”

  “I…uh…kinda need your help.”

  “Okay,” I set my bag and purse down on the kitchen counter and kicked my shoes off by the back door.

  “I sort of forgot about a school project that’s due.”

  I was right to be suspicious. “What project and when is it due?”

  “Physics project. Due…tomorrow.”

  “What?”

  “I know, I know. Please don’t be upset.”

  “Joseph, you’ve got to keep up with assignments. Physics projects are typically easy to throw together at the last minute. What are you supposed to do?”

  He stood in silence, obviously nervous about revealing the enormity of this project.

  “Build a Rube Goldberg machine.”

  My jaw dropped and I just stared at my first born wondering how on earth he ever thought we could do this project in a single evening. I also wondered if we crawled on our knees and begged his teacher for mercy, if she’d give us a few more days. Doubtful.

  “It’s a machine that has multiple steps just to complete a simple task; kind of steampunk.”

  “I know what it is,” I told him, insulted. Steampunk is something I’ve always found fascinating. “How many steps are you supposed to have for your machine?”

  “Five.”

  “Good Lord. Do you have any ideas for this?”

  “Yes! I have a sketch!” He pulled a sketchbook from his backpack and flipped to find the right page. “Here it is. We can use rope and some of our weights to open a drawer.”

  “This might actually be do-able. Let me change clothes and I’ll meet you in the garage.”

  Sweat pants and baggy t-shirt donned, I entered the garage to see Joseph holding a wad of rope and staring forlorn into space.

  “I’m really not sure how to do this,” he muttered.

  I glanced over his sketch again and started giving orders.

  “Move that old dresser closer this way. We’ll need the weight to move to pull the rope. How can we execute that?”

  “Maybe it could roll down the weight bench? I mean, we could prop up the bench on one side like this…” Joseph set a crate under the end and let an eight-pound free weight roll down and onto the floor.

  “That’s a good start!” exclaimed Carrie, jumping in to help. “I read your assignment paper. You actually only need three steps but have to demonstrate five pysics principles. We can totally do this!”

  I was ever grateful to have a science nerd in the family. With the three of us working together, we managed to come up with a system that released the weight to roll down the bench, pulling the rope that opened a drawer while also using the weight to crush an empty soda can in the recyling bin. Hey, for last minute, it wasn’t too bad.

  “Now, we have to video it,” Joseph said.

  “What? You didn’t mention that part,” I said, a bit aggravated.

  “I’ll use the iPad and email it to my teacher and then it’s done. No big deal,” Joseph assured me.

  Carrie videoed him presenting his device which included a bit of theatrics on his part. He could be quite the showman when he wanted.

  “Maymay, is there pesto?” Tommy called from the kitchen.

  “Crap! Supper! How did I forget food?” I went running back into the house. “Yes, Tommy, there’s pesto. Is that what you want?”

  “Of course it is,” he replied dryly.

  Carrie helped me boil pasta and Joseph pulled a rotiserie chicken from the deli out of the fridge and began slicing. In a matter of minutes, we had a pretty tasty supper prepared.

  “Today must be teamwork day,” I told the kids when we sat down to eat.

  “Why’s that?” Joseph asked.

  “Well, first, Cole and I worked together to get some information for a case. Then, we all worked to do your project. And just now we worked as a team to put together this meal.”

  “Go team!” Tommy yelled.

  We all laughed.

  “Go us!” added Carrie.

  “We’re number one!” Joseph cheered.

  “Holy roosters!” hollered Tommy.

  We have no idea where his favorite phrase come from, but sometimes—like this moment—it just seems perfectly apropos.

  chapter six

  Having managed to get everyone out the door on time, I actually arrived to work early. To my dismay, however, Ginny’s car was parked and lights were on inside. This was supposed to be her day off, but I guessed she came in to work since Cole has spent time helping me with my side investigation. With a heavy sigh, a whispered prayer and a firm grip on my gas station coffee, I entered the office.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead!” Ginny chirped.

  “Uh, good morning. You’re here early.”

  “Well, there’s so much to do. Be a doll, and download some forms for me. Here’s the list.”

  I held my breath and silently counted to five. “Ginny, I appreciate that you have a lot to do, but I have my own work to get done.”

  “But, you’re our assistant,” she stated with part confusion and part condescencion; still holding out that list.

  “No. I’m the research assistant; meaning, I do research for information that assists Mr. Baker with his cases. And I have some serious amounts of research to get done. If you’ll excuse me.”

  I began my walk down the hall towards my office once again whispering a prayer for Jesus to put His love in my heart and His hand over my mouth.

  “It’s just that I can’t type so well with these new nails. I had them done again yesterday because my girl was finally back and she’s the only one who does them right. You don’t do anything with your nails so I figured you could just tap away on the computer and get these forms printed for me.”

  She was serious. Ya’ll, she was completely serious. Ginny assumed I could I do this for her because I didn’t get regular manicures. Not that I wouldn’t love a good manicure, but not only could I not justify the expense, but I preferred to keep my nails short because of all the typing I do. Plus, on the occasion that I need to restrain Tommy, nails that can scratch would be a really bad thing. But besides all that, Ginny wanted me to help her out to save her newly polished fingernails. Dear Lord.

  “Ginny,” I said turtly as I swung around in the hallway.

  “Charlotte!” Cole yelled, swinging open the front door. “Come with me!”

  I still had my purse, bag and coffee in my hands, but I just looked at Ginny and gave her a shrug before I followed behind Cole to his car.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, struggling to keep pace with him.

  “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  We had barely shut the care doors when I began questioning Cole.

  “Is this about the guy with the gator tattoo?”

  “Yes. We have a possible location; a place to check out and see if he’s there. I can ask him about Amber and Lily. You just stand there and use your spidey-senses.”

  “Funny. So, I’m not allowed to talk?”

  “I’d rather you not. These aren’t nice people, Charlotte. And this guy…get this, he has a kidnapping conviction.”

  “What? Seriously? So, he really could have taken them. But, he hasn’t asked for ransom?”

  “Maybe he has. Maybe Randy hasn’t revealed that for
some reason. I asked my buddy why the police haven’t questioned him. He said they had no reason to because they didn’t know about Amber trying to get her sister away from this guy and his drugs.”

  “What’s this guy’s name?”

  Cole gave me a weird grin. “Gator.”

  “What’s his real name?”

  “That is his real name. No joke.”

  “His parents really named him Gator,” I said incredulously, shaking my head. “Bless his heart.”

  It took about twenty-five minutes to get from the office down to Palm Bay to a location locals referred to as the Compound. It had been the start of a housing development with paved streets and designated lots for sale, but something went wrong along the way and whole area was abandoned. There were wooded areas throughout, and the streets winded through sometimes connecting, but sometimes coming to an abrupt end. It was a great location for many activities. Parents took their teenagers here to learn to drive. People came out to operate remote controlled cars and drones. Even Joseph had come out here with film club friends to film a zombie movie once. But, there was also a criminal element that liked the area for its conduciveness to hiding whatever it was you shouldn’t be doing. The police had blocked the area off for a time after some apparent drag racing caused fatal accidents. But, they were far too busy to patrol such a large abanoned area all the time, and besides, there were plenty of ways to sneak in.

  “We could never cover enough of this place to actually find someone; even if he does have a large gator tattoo,” I complained to Cole.

  “We don’t have to go searching. My friend gave me directions to the usual hangout.”

  “Seriously?”

  “He’s done some undercover work, and has an informant out here. Supposedly, these guys aren’t seriously dangerous. Mostly potheads.”

  “But, Gator has a kidnapping conviction. I’d say that makes him dangerous.”

  “We can always stop now, and just leave this alone,” Cole said, seriously, stopping the car and looking me dead in the eye.