“It was ridiculous, but I’m not complaining,” the other responded. “You can’t beat those tips.”
I quickly understood that they were discussing a local baseball player who had bought everyone drinks at a bar. One of them said he’d gone to a strip club later and “made it rain” there too.
“Gross,” the first woman said. “He was flirting with everyone. Thank God no one took the bait.”
“Oh, I guarantee someone took the bait. You can’t toss that kind of money around and get nowhere.”
“Put your hands in the dryer,” the technician unknowingly interrupted. I looked around and didn’t see a dryer anywhere. “Under there.”
I stuck my hands into a lighted crevice under the table. I hoped it was speedy. I hadn’t thought to get out my tip or Kat’s picture before my nails were done. Rookie move. It seemed inappropriate to ask her to reach into my pocket or purse, so I’d just have to be careful.
Fifteen minutes later, while checking out, I carefully extracted photos of Kat and Daddy B and showed them to the technician.
“I have seen her,” she said. “But not him. She used to come in with the girls from XXXTC. You know the place?”
“I do. When was the last time she came in?”
“Let me check. What’s her name?”
“Kat. With a K.”
The technician tapped on a keyboard, and I noticed her nails were short and unpainted. Maybe it was hard to do nails with…nails.
“Kat Burke?”
“Yes.” I tried not to show my excitement.
“She was here two weeks ago.”
Holy moly. She was in their computer system. I wanted to look at everything they had.
“Oh. What day?”
She cleared her throat, and I hoped it wasn’t from hesitation. “A Sunday. Stella did her nails, but she’s not here anymore. She quit.”
“Where did she go?”
“Italy.”
Oh. I was hoping for another salon, not another country.
“I need to talk to Kat,” I said quietly. “Do you have her phone number or address?”
“No. She didn’t give them,” she said. “Just her name when she checked in.”
“Which services did she get?” I asked.
“Nails and eyebrow wax. That’s all.”
“So she’d be due to come in…when?” I tried to sound casual.
“She has an appointment one week from today. Ten o’clock. Nail fill and eyebrow threading. I’m taking some of Stella’s clients, so maybe she’ll see me.”
This woman was giving me way too much information. The protective part of me was wincing inwardly, while the PI in me was rejoicing, hoping she’d keep it up.
I used my finger pads to extract two business cards and asked her to call me if Kat happened to come in earlier, and also to give one to Kat if I wasn’t reachable. She gave me one of her cards too, with her hours on the back. Then I slid my credit card ever so carefully through the machine and added a generous tip.
“You want another appointment?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “How about right before Kat? Are you available?”
“What do you want done? Your nails won’t need work yet.”
I thought back to the list of services. There was nothing I wanted, except maybe a massage, and that wouldn’t work. I needed to be in the main salon, not out of sight.
“A pedicure is fine,” I said, knowing I’d have some major preparation to do.
“No eyebrow wax? It would look good.”
Excuse me? That was not a compliment.
“Um, no thanks. Just the pedicure.” Mentally, I made an appointment with my tweezers.
“Okay. Thank you. I’ll see you at nine o’clock then.”
I waved goodbye, admiring my hands but noticing my nail beds were a little sore. Small price to pay for a good lead.
Ten
It was Dean’s lunch break, and I’d promised him pizza in exchange for a giant favor. He’d just finished admiring my nails (and angling for more back scratches), and I’d told him about a quick stop I’d made at Bob’s, the shop next to XXXTC.
Yes, they’d told me. We do the girls’ hair, and a lot of XXXTC’s customers come here too. But when I said I was a new waitress who liked Kat’s hair and wanted the same stylist if possible, they looked annoyed and said Kat hadn’t been in for a while, and with the discount they provided, you took whoever you got.
No problem. I didn’t want my hair done anyway.
Now we were on to much more distressing tasks.
“Would you be willing to call this number?” I asked after searching a stomach-turning website for photos of Kat. Needless to say, I wasn’t hungry anymore.
I’d finally found a small photo of a local woman, and I was almost certain she was Kat. She was available as an “escort,” the ad said, for two hundred and fifty dollars an hour. Her name was listed as “Cat.”
“So I’m calling to set up a date with her?” Dean asked.
“I know it’s awful. I’m sorry. But if I call, they might think something’s up. Then again, if she answers…hmm.” I wasn’t sure if I should talk to her over the phone. “You know what? I don’t have any way of knowing whether or not it’s her. Just make an appointment. I mean a date. Please. And thank you.”
“Am I actually going to show up for this ‘date’?”
“Heck no. Kenna and I are, but I might want you nearby for backup, if that’s okay. I’d never risk you get arrested or something. Speaking of that, don’t say anything about paying for sex. Not that you would, obviously, but as soon as money and sex are linked, you’re in dangerous legal territory.”
“So when do you want me ‘not’ to meet her?”
“Ask about her first available times, and jot them down. I’ll circle the best one. Are you really okay with this?” I asked while handing him a pen and paper.
He smiled. “It’s just a call. I’m fine. You’re the only one I’d do this for though.”
“Call an escort service? Uh, thank you?”
He dialed the number and put the call on speaker. A male answered, and I wondered if it was Daddy B.
“Scott’s Escorts,” he said gruffly.
“Hi. I’d like to arrange a date with, um, Cat?” Dean was acting like a nervous “john.”
“When?”
“As soon as she’s available.”
“She’s booked ’til 1 a.m. tomorrow night. That too late?”
Dean looked at me, and I gave him a thumbs up, although the thought of her being “booked” was horrible.
“That’s fine. Where should I meet her?”
“Brighton Hotel. Room 201. Cash only. Got it?”
This guy did not have a future as a receptionist.
“I’ll be there.”
“You seen her before? You a regular?”
“No. First time.”
“You want two girls? We got more if you can pay.”
Oh my goodness. He was trying to upsell in the most reprehensible way.
“Uh.” Dean pretended to think about it. “How much more?”
“Double. Five hundred.”
“No, no. Just one. Just Cat.”
The line was disconnected.
Goodbye, jerk. Hello, Kat.
Dean went back to work after lunch, and Kenna came home from following Shawna, making bad puns about staying on her “tail.” Shawna had worked out and then visited the shop next to XXXTC. She’d come out with her wet hair out of its signature ponytail, swishy as ever. I was glad I’d missed her.
When Shawna returned to her apartment, Kenna took Sky to a half-day preschool program she attended twice a week. Now that my kids were in school, I couldn’t believe I’d ever survived on so little personal time, without a spouse, n
o less. Marveling at Kenna reminded me of something I’d learned the hard way: People are capable of more than they know—both good and bad.
“Before we go anywhere else,” Kenna said when she arrived at my door, “you’re looking at these.” She handed me a sheaf of papers.
“What’s this?”
One glance told me it was her health club’s monthly calendar with countless classes highlighted.
“I can’t go to all those,” I protested, sounding like a whiny toddler.
Kenna laughed. “I know, silly. Those are just your options. But you gotta pick a couple. Do it for your kids.”
Sheesh. Going for the jugular.
I looked at the class names and zeroed in on one immediately. “What’s Disco Fit?”
“I was hoping you’d ask. It’s a disco-themed class that feels more like clubbing than working out. We’re giving it a test drive, and so should you.”
“What kind of music do they play?”
“Seventies with a little modern stuff mixed in.”
“Like rap?”
“A little. More like Donna Summer. That’s the only drawback. It might not be hardcore enough for you.” We laughed. “You in?”
I looked at the schedule again. There were a few sessions I could make, but I paused for dramatic effect.
“Fine. I’ll go.”
“Yes!” Kenna said, pumping her fist victoriously.
“Don’t celebrate until I make it through a class without giving up or dying.”
“I have faith in you,” she said. “And the power of the disco ball.”
After putting a few classes on my calendar and checking for updates in the Jared Funk case (there weren’t any), we discussed a trip to see Corey the next day and childcare arrangements. A short van ride later, we were back at Joey’s apartment, hoping someone was home. We’d only wait for his shift at the animal shelter if we had to.
The good news was that when we approached the door, we heard loud music, which I hoped was Joey’s, although as a chronic music blaster myself, I knew it could be anyone, any age. The song was by a DC group that got well-deserved radio play, and no one seemed to hear our knocks and doorbell rings over the music.
Kenna looked at me. “What should we do?”
“We’re not leaving. That’s for sure.” I thought about what would get my attention if my stereo was blasting. A fire alarm. A screaming child. Banging on my door. The bright, blinking light of my phone when it rang. I got out my phone and did a quick internet search. If Joey’s family still had a landline, it might be listed. I found a number and dialed, letting it ring almost endlessly. Finally, the music quieted, and a male picked up.
“What?” he said.
“Hi. Is this Joey?”
“Who’s this?”
“My name is Nicki. Actually, my friend and I are standing outside your door. Sorry to interrupt, but we’re hoping you can help us with something related to your friend Kat.”
Silence. “I haven’t talked to Kat in a while. Is she okay?”
“That’s partly why we need to talk with you. I’ll explain everything if you don’t mind answering the door. I love The Berrys, by the way. Awesome band.”
He laughed a little. “All right. Hang on.”
After a minute of nervous waiting, the doorknob turned, and a slender young man with loose jeans, a hoodie, and shaggy, dark hair poked his head out.
“What’s up?” he said. “You wanna come in?”
“Sure,” I said. “Thanks.”
The apartment was a mess, and I didn’t judge. In fact, I kind of admired it. No illusions of perfection. Life is messy, and maybe showing it yielded some peace I was missing.
We introduced ourselves, showed our IDs, and confirmed Joey was old enough to be interviewed without parental consent.
“So who do you work for?” he asked. “You’re not, like, with the police or anything?”
“No,” I said, hoping to make him feel comfortable. “We’re not with the police or any law enforcement, and we’re definitely not here to get anyone in trouble. Our client cares a lot about Kat, and we just want to make sure she’s okay. What can you tell us about the last time you saw her?”
He said it had been more than a month ago, when they’d hung out at a local park and talked about the future. She hadn’t seemed depressed, and she wasn’t into drinking or drugs.
“She had plans, you know? She wanted to get out of here and make a life for herself.”
“Like what?” I said. “What did she want to happen?”
“She wanted to get a job, get an apartment, you know. The usual.”
“What kind of job?”
“Nothing specific. Anything she could live on. She wanted to earn enough to take classes and get an associate’s degree or something.”
“Any specific school or major?”
“Nah. I guess KCCC.” That was the local community college.
“Did she tell you where she was going?”
“No. I don’t think she knew. I assumed she meant somewhere local, but I’m not sure. She didn’t answer her phone, and then it was disconnected. I’ve been worried, but then again, Kat’s independent. I figured she’d get in touch when she was ready. But it’s been too long, right? Is that why someone’s worried? It must be her foster mom. Did you talk to her?”
“We did,” I said. “What’s your perspective on their relationship?”
“It’s not gonna get back to her?” he asked.
“Not if we can help it,” Kenna said. “But don’t worry, most moms and daughters have issues.”
“Yeah. I guess. Her mom, I mean her foster mom, kept a tight leash on her. Like, super tight.”
“Can you give us some examples?” she asked.
“She couldn’t come over here unless my parents were home, and we weren’t even dating. Nothing was gonna happen. It was stupid.”
“That must have been frustrating.” I tried to sound understanding while silently commiserating with Kat’s foster mom. “So you guys were just friends?”
“Yeah. Totally. She wasn’t my type. I don’t mean that in a bad way, but she just wasn’t.”
“What made her not your type?” Kenna probed.
Joey looked at his feet. “I don’t want to criticize her or anything.”
“It’s just between us,” I assured him. “It’ll help us understand her better. Anything you can tell us might make a difference.”
“She was kind of…” He paused. “Loose.”
“She slept with a lot of guys?” I asked gently.
“Yeah. Sorry. Don’t hate her for it. She’s a great person, and I miss her.”
“We’re not judging. Tell us what you like about her,” Kenna said, leaning forward.
“Oh, man. She’s fricking cool. The most confident person I ever met. She makes me feel like I can do anything.”
“I hear you’re in a band,” I said. “How’s that going?”
“Good,” he said. “We’ve got a bunch of gigs coming up. How’d you hear about me, anyway?”
“We just asked around. You guys spent a lot of time together.”
“Definitely. Being neighbors and all. Actually, she’s the only one I played all my music for at first. She believed in me more than my parents. They want me to do something more ‘constructive.’”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “That’s hard. Speaking of parents, what else upset Kat about her foster mom?”
“Well, her curfew was ridiculously early.”
“How early?”
“Eleven. She couldn’t even see some of my shows.”
“How upset was Kat about that kind of thing?”
“Upset enough to leave, I guess.”
“So that’s why she left?”
“I don’t know,” he
said. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. Kat’s foster mom was strict, but she was nice, and she seriously cared about Kat. And Kat loved her little brother, Alexander. Not to get all psychoanalytical or whatever, but I think Kat wanted to leave foster care in general. Her foster mom just represented that, you know? Kat just wanted freedom.”
My fear was that she’d gotten exactly the opposite.
It took a while, but eventually Joey told us more about Kat’s behavior. She’d mostly been with guys from her high school, with the exception of a couple guys she’d met through Joey’s band. He said none of them seemed particularly special to her. He thought maybe she’d left the area, since no one had heard from her or seen her at popular hangouts. Joey also knew she’d gotten rides in a limo, since he’d talked to her foster mom, but he claimed he didn’t know what that was about. If anything, he thought she might have made some cool connections and left him behind.
“Is there anywhere local you think she couldn’t resist going? Somewhere we might find her, like a favorite restaurant or store?”
He thought for a minute.
“Did you already go to El Toro?”
“Yes,” Kenna said.
“I guess that’s it, then. Maybe the mall. The Starbucks there. They know her by name.”
That was helpful. I gave him my card and reminded myself to have some made for Kenna.
“What’s the name of your band?” I asked.
“Crush.” He gave us their website, and I promised to check it out. “We’ve got a show Friday at Roscoe’s downtown.”
I wondered if there was any chance Kat would show up. I hoped it was well publicized.
“Awesome. Thanks, Joey,” I said.
“Oh, wait,” Kenna said before he closed the door. “What about Bruno? We saw him when we looked for you at the shelter.”
“Bruno?” Joey smiled widely. “Kat loves Bruno. Everyone loves Bruno. He’s the man.”
“He’s adorable,” Kenna said. “Do you think Kat misses him?”
“Now that you mention it, yeah. I bet she misses him as much as anyone else.”
“On a scale of one to ten, how overprotective do you think Kat’s foster mom is?” Kenna asked on the way home.
Skydive Page 9