Unfortunately, time was something we didn’t have much of, and Shawna was exactly who we needed to confront.
After two hours of delivering greasy food to greasier customers, Kenna texted me to meet her in the bathroom ASAP, although she clarified it wasn’t an emergency. We’d taken so many bathroom breaks together in school, not to mention on double dates, that it almost felt natural. I got there a minute later, eager to compare notes.
“This place is so sad,” I said after checking the stalls to make sure they were empty. “I hate thinking of Kat being here or anywhere connected to it.”
“I know,” Kenna said. “What have you learned?”
I filled her in, and she said she’d met a waitress, Melissa, who’d befriended Kat. They’d both responded to ads at the same time, and they’d trained together.
“Everything matches up with what we know,” Kenna said. “Kat was pissed at the system. She wanted to be on her own, so she answered an ad for XXXTC, left home, and then left here. She wasn’t making much money, and she wanted to be independent. Here’s the most important part. She’d been talking to Daddy B, and the last time Melissa saw her, it was with him.”
“What? When?”
“A few weeks ago. She thinks they left together on a Saturday night. He’s not a regular, but Kat introduced him to Melissa.”
“Going away with a pimp is anything but independent,” I said. “But I’m sure Daddy B convinced her otherwise. Did Melissa say how Kat met him?”
“No one seems to know. But Kat’s young and vulnerable. She must have been an easy target.”
“Did she and Melissa keep in touch?”
“Melissa tried. She checked the motel where Kat was staying, some rundown place on Miller Street, but she wasn’t there anymore.”
“Any word on Shawna?”
“Not much. Her last name is Everett. I checked the schedule, and she danced earlier, but she’ll be back again later. I hope Shawna’s her real name. I want to look into her background.”
“Me too. And we have to track down Daddy B. Did Melissa know anything else about him?”
“I didn’t want to keep asking, since I was already verging on suspicious. I just told her Bobby said Kat wasn’t here long. I pretended we thought she got fired, and that we didn’t want to make the same mistakes.”
“Did you learn anything else about Bobby?” I asked.
“Melissa said he takes a hefty cut of tips, but she says he’s okay. He drives the dancers around a lot and encourages them to take pride in their work. Obviously, I think he’s slime, and I don’t like that Kat had anything to do with him.”
“Exactly.”
I wished we could put a GPS on the limo, but it wouldn’t be legal without the owner’s consent. We could ask Robert Sr. if necessary, and we could tail the limo, although we’d already been spotted in my van.
“We’ll stop by the motel Melissa mentioned,” I said. “And I’ll remind Dean to work his contacts about Daddy B.”
“Good. Because I don’t want to work another shift here.”
“Things got too real too fast, huh?”
“No. It’s these frigging heels. They suck. I need to tell the girls about the ones our club sells. They’re made for a workout. If we come back, I’m bringing my own.”
I really hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.
Since Kenna and I had asked so many questions, we decided to listen more than talk for a while, although Kenna’s shoe advice got the girls jabbering.
“Can I get them online?” a dancer asked. “How high are they?”
Kenna jotted down information on a napkin, including her favorite pole supply website. “Their shoes are expensive,” she warned. “But they’re worth it.”
Jokes about how to make extra money started flying, and one of the women said she’d heard Kenna “killed” her pole audition.
“Thanks,” Kenna said. “I’m desperate for cash, so I’ll take whatever I can get.”
A woman with an especially plump rear strode in, her long, platinum hair in a flat-ironed ponytail she probably swung around onstage.
“Who killed their audition?” she asked pointedly, glancing around the room.
Kenna lifted her hand. “Me, I guess. I’m Champagne.” She reached out for a handshake. “This is my friend Raven.”
Shawna gave each of us a limp fingertip handshake, as if we were infectious. “Shawna,” was all she said.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “I hear you’re a great dancer.”
“Best in King County.” I caught some eye rolls around the room, and women started to disperse.
“What’s your secret?” I asked.
She leaned over, shook her booty at warp speed, and stood slowly and seductively. Then she gave it one last shimmy for good measure. Secret revealed, or at least part of it. I thought the rest might involve silicone, front and back.
“Top that, bitch,” she said, pointing at Kenna and surprising both of us. I wasn’t sure if she was serious.
“I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes, honey,” Kenna responded. “I’m just here to pay the bills.”
“Riiight,” Shawna said, sauntering off and swinging more than her ponytail.
“What’s up with her?” Kenna asked Melissa under her breath.
“Oh, she’s cold. And she’s tight with Bobby, since she brings in so much money. She’ll cut a bitch.”
“Has she actually done anything to anyone?” I asked.
“One of Kat’s shoes broke on stage once, and we kind of wondered. Then Kat got food poisoning another night. It definitely made it easier for her to leave.”
We headed for the main room, where the DJ was pumping up the crowd for Shawna’s entrance. Once she got started, I had to admit that she put on a memorable show, ponytail and cash flying everywhere.
After she and another headliner wrapped it up, Bobby said we could go, so Kenna and I changed into street clothes in the bathroom. Other waitresses wanted the remaining tables and tips, and we weren’t there to make enemies.
“Did we make the cut?” Kenna asked him on the way out.
“You did fine. Come back Saturday and work a busy shift,” he said. “That’ll be the real test. Bring your social security cards so we can make it official.” He looked at Kenna. “And you can have stage time if you want. Be here at six sharp, and tell the DJ a few of your favorite songs.”
“See you then,” Kenna said.
In the relative comfort of my van, we watched a few other customers and staff leave, including Shawna, who drove a late-model Mercedes convertible. She definitely had an image to maintain. We noted her license plate, downloaded a photo of her from the club website (which, not surprisingly, featured her bum), and put her on our priority list.
“At least she’ll be easy to spot,” I said.
“And hard for anyone to forget.”
I sure hoped that was true.
Our final stop was the motel, which was easy to find on Miller Street. It stood two stories high, and its giant “Beaker Motel, $39, VACANCIES” sign flashed at us from a block away. A homeless man was asleep on a bench nearby, and the lobby was dimly lit but unlocked.
“Hello?” I called as a bell jingled on the door. Magazines were scattered on a stained, dented coffee table in front of a vinyl sofa, and the front desk was deserted.
“Can I help you?” an elderly gentleman asked as he emerged from a back office. He looked like he’d been working there forever, which was good news for us.
“I hope so,” I said. “We’re looking for one of your guests.” We held out our IDs and the photo of Kat. “Have you seen her?”
“You’re PIs?” he said. “Fantastic. Would you like to rent a room?”
Kenna looked confused until I pulled a twenty from my purse and spoke.
“We
’d like to see the room where this woman stayed, if it’s vacant. What do you remember about her?”
“She stayed several nights, and she was nicer than most. I gave her a second-floor room for safety. Can’t be too careful around here.”
He pulled out a logbook and started flipping pages. Behind him was a rack of actual door keys. I wondered if the place had ever been renovated.
He moved a gnarled finger down a column of names and stopped on one. Then he flipped the book around for us to see. Kat had signed into the hotel a month earlier and paid cash for a week’s stay, perhaps with the birthday money we’d heard about. On the last day of the week, she’d paid for an additional night—cash again, and she’d checked out the next morning.
“Did she have visitors?” Kenna asked.
“Not that I remember. Except her last day here,” he said.
“Uh huh,” I said. “Who was that?”
“I’m having trouble remembering…” He rubbed his fingers together.
This time, Kenna pulled out a twenty. We’d been taught to carry cash as PIs, and I was glad we’d listened.
“A guy paid cash for her last night here.”
“A guy? Do you know his name?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said. “But I could tell he was no good.”
“What did he look like?” Kenna asked.
“White guy. Long, black, frizzy hair. Skinny. Tall. Shifty eyes.”
“Long black hair?” I asked. “How long?”
“Ponytail long. He pulled it back. Horrible style, if you ask me. Like I said, up to no good. Too bad she was with him.”
“Have you seen him before?”
“Oh, yeah. Picking up other girls. Hoping for a good time, I guess. This place attracts riffraff, but it’s good for people down on their luck.”
“How about this woman?” I asked, showing him a photo of Shawna on my phone.
“Don’t know her,” he said. “Looks like she’d fit in though.”
“Is there anyone else who might know more about the first woman, Kat, like another employee or a long-term guest?”
“I doubt it. I’m the owner, and I live onsite. My daughter helps out when I need her. Call her if you want.” He jotted down a name and number and slid it to us.
“Is there a maid we could talk with? Someone who cleaned her room?”
“Maid doesn’t get here ’til morning. Name’s Nina. She starts at nine. Feel free to come back.”
“Thanks. Do you have surveillance cameras here?” I asked, looking around.
“Ha. No. That jingling door’s the only security I’ve got.”
We got his name and asked to see Kat’s room before we left.
“212,” he said, handing over a key, which I exchanged for a Sky Investigations business card. “Take it for the night. You paid for it.”
Room 212 might have disgusted me if I hadn’t been in a strip club all night. It was actually fairly clean, except for the blue (or was it gray?) carpet, which was matted and stained. Still, it was vacuumed, and the furniture had less dust than mine. There was a TV (not a flat screen, but it had cable) and a mini fridge, which was the only thing that looked fairly new. No comment on the dirt-colored comforter, which was the opposite of comforting.
“There’s no evidence to collect here, is there?” Kenna asked.
“Not that we can use without a team of scientists. I just want to get a feel for how Kat was living. She must have been pretty desperate to come here. Her foster mom’s apartment complex was nicer than this, unless their apartment wasn’t clean.”
“Which might be why she got desperate to leave here pretty quickly. She was used to better.”
“Uh huh. I wonder if the maid, Nina, would remember anything about her.” I knelt down and looked under the bed. Then Kenna and I opened every dresser drawer, only finding a Bible, and checked behind furniture and inside the mini fridge. Nothing except a little baseboard crud. Nina was good.
“Let’s come back tomorrow and talk to her,” Kenna said. “I don’t think there’s much else we can do here.”
A wave of embarrassment hit me as I realized she was wrong.
“Come on,” I said. “We overlooked something.”
Six
To prepare for our next task, we made a quick run to an all-night fast food place and brought back burgers, salads, fries, bottled waters, and a milkshake. We also picked up a gift card.
“You got apple pie in there?” the homeless man on the bench asked when we offered him a bag. He smelled unpleasant, wore a rumpled sweat suit, and hadn’t shaved in weeks or longer.
“I’m sorry, no,” I said.
“Good. I don’t like it.”
I asked if we could join him, and to my relief, he said yes. We’d gotten food for ourselves too, hoping to put him at ease.
“I’m Nicki,” I said. “And this is my friend Kenna.”
“I’m Arthur White, and you don’t look like you’re from around here.”
“You’re right. We’re looking for someone, and if you see a lot of what happens at the motel, we’re hoping you can help us find her.”
I held out Kat’s picture.
“Oh, that’s Kat,” he said simply.
“You know her?” Kenna asked, taken aback.
“Darn tootin’. She brought me breakfast every day. Said she knew about feeling homeless, after being a foster kid and all.” He looked at her photo again. “Yep. That’s her.”
“How much did the two of you talk?” I asked.
“Every morning, but she wasn’t here long. She took the road so many of them do.”
“Which road is that?” I held my breath.
“The wrong one with the wrong guy. But I understand. You do what you have to do. I’m not one to judge.”
“Do you know the guy’s name?”
“Folks around here call him Daddy B.” He lowered his voice. “Short for Daddy Bucks, I think.”
“We need to make sure Kat’s okay,” I said. “It sounds like you care about her, and it would help if you told us everything you know about Daddy B.”
Arthur took a bite of a French fry and sipped his milkshake. “You seem legit, and Kat was a good egg.” He paused. “You gonna keep this between us?”
“We’ll do our best,” I reassured him.
Kenna nodded.
“He’s into drugs. He has a lot of short meetings in outdoor offices, if you know what I mean.”
“By into drugs, do you mean doing them or selling them?”
“Dealing. He trolls around here picking up girls and customers, and he hangs out on Fifth Street a lot. I don’t know much more than that.”
“Do you know where he lives? Or where Kat might have gone with him?”
“No. She said goodbye, but she didn’t explain. Just said she had to go.”
“Has she come back to visit?”
“Not unless I missed her.” He locked his watery blue eyes with mine. “Hey, helping you better not come back to haunt me. Understand?”
“Got it,” I said, wishing we’d met him in private. I glanced around and didn’t see anyone nearby, but that didn’t mean much.
“There’s a gift card in that bag for you,” I said. I handed him my business card too, wondering how he’d reach me. “If we need to find you again, where’s the best place to look?”
“Here,” he said. “The motel lets me shower sometimes. If I’m not around, I’m probably at the Ninth Street shelter.”
“Have you ever seen Kat there?”
He shook his head. “No such luck. She’d be better off there than wherever she is, I reckon.”
We thanked him for his help, and I said a silent prayer that he’d be kept safe—and that Kat would be too.
It was time to go home. Kenna’s husband, Andy, was a sp
ortswriter, and although it was well after midnight, he was still at work. I just hoped her parents wouldn’t ask how we’d spent the evening. In a strip club and a low-class motel probably wouldn’t go over well—or lead to more babysitting.
Andy’s reaction might be even worse. For safety purposes, Kenna had left him several voicemails with her locations, but no response meant he hadn’t received them or he was too angry to talk.
I’d texted Dean, glad he hadn’t shown up or sent friends to check on me, not that I could be sure, since his friends were used to working undercover.
“Let’s visit Fifth Street tomorrow,” I said. “I’d rather go in daylight. Plus, we have to dress the part.”
“Are we going as prostitutes?” Kenna sounded more intrigued than nervous.
“Uh, no. We just need to fit in and come up with a good excuse to snoop around and ask questions. We got caught off guard tonight, and I don’t want that to happen again.”
Ha. Wishful thinking.
I woke to the blissful sound of silence the next morning, since the kids were still at Kenna’s. If they’d been home, the silence, even at eight a.m., would have worried me. At best, it would mean Jack and Sophie were eating cookies for breakfast and/or binge-watching unapproved cartoons, urging each other to “Shhhh!” while I slept, which usually woke me up.
I rolled over and grabbed my cell phone, hoping to have a good-morning text from Dean. I did, and it was more than I’d wished for. He’d called in some favors and sent me a mug shot of Danny Braxton, a.k.a. “Daddy B,” of no fixed address, who had been arrested for possession and public intoxication two years earlier. Apparently he was known as a small-time crook who was working his way up. The police had him on their radar, Dean said, but they weren’t interested in sharing any more information.
Glad you got home safely. Can’t wait to hear how things are going. I’m teaching a seminar today, but leave me a message or stop by for lunch. Keep me posted. Miss you.
I texted him back and included a heart emoji. Recently, we’d said, “I love you,” but I wasn’t about to start texting it. Then I used Google Earth to get an aerial view of Fifth Street. It had a few legit businesses: a barbershop, a convenience store, a pawnshop, and a dental clinic. It also had lots of alleys, apartments, and other hiding places for Daddy B.
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