The Sea Horse Trade

by Sasscer Hill

  * * * *

  Surfacing from my nap, I enjoyed a long luxurious stretch before someone knocked on the door of my motel room. I rolled off the bed and peeked through a slat of the Venetian blinds. Stella.

  Maybe she wanted to invite me over for a beer with Lou. I opened the door, and her cat, Scat, rushed past me, making a beeline for the trash can in my tiny kitchen. She probably smelled the empty fish can. A true tuna monster.

  Leaning against the door jamb, Stella said, “Ever since Lou gave her that sandwich, this is how it is. There is no controlling that cat. You want I should get her out of there?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “I’ll take care of it. What’s up, Stella?”

  She was wearing a navy-blue jogging suit that screamed Walmart, but brought out the blue in her eyes. Her gray hair was stiff with spray, and a faint floral scent hung around her.

  “I’m not one to tell tales out of school,” she said, “but there was some Mexican nosing around earlier.” She pointed at the concrete outside my door. “Standing right here. I came out, asked him what he wanted. Said ‘never mind,’ that he’d talk to you later. What am I, stupid? If he wanted to talk to you, he coulda knocked on your door.”

  “What did he look like?” I asked.

  She scrunched her eyes half-closed. “Had a pony tail, earrings, and plenty of attitude. I’m telling you he was up to no good.”

  “Mustache?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. Friend of yours?”

  I let out a breath. It was only Orlando. “Yes. He works for me.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I appreciate your keeping watch, Stella.”

  “Lou says I’m a busybody. But a girl has to be careful these days.”

  “Amen to that.”

  A noise from behind made me turn. Scat bumped the plastic trash can with her head and circled it like a submarine, her tail a raised periscope. Stopping, she gazed at me.

  “I don’t think so,” I said, walking to her. As I scooped her into my arms she purred. She wasn’t a squirmer, and her fur was silky as her long white whiskers tickled my arm.

  “I am not falling for this.”

  I handed her over to Stella, who gave me a quizzical look. “Say, you wanna come over for a beer?”

  “Maybe later?”

  “Okay. If I see anymore creeps hanging around, I’ll let you know.” With the cat cradled under one arm, she opened the door to her room and disappeared inside.

  I paused and gazed at the small slice of Intracoastal water beyond the motel railing. Two long-legged white birds stood in the water. Egrets? In the distance, palm trees and condos rose against a soft blue sky.

  At home, the Canada geese were probably standing on Laurel’s frozen infield lake. I shivered involuntarily as I closed my door.

  My cell rang. It was Carla, all worked up again. “I called George. I got him to give me the address where Jade lived…before the Paulsons were killed.”

  The adoptive parents. I didn’t want to go to a murder scene.

  She must have read my thoughts. “The neighborhood, Nikki, not the house. We might find kids who know Jade. I got the sense from Rick yesterday that the police have very little information on her.” She paused for a breath before rushing on. “I can’t just sit here!”

  Her last performance had put her in a police van. I didn’t need any of that, still, I didn’t want her going off alone again.

  “Okay,” I said. “Meet me at the barn. It’s almost three now, and I have to start evening feed.”

  “But Jim’s there, and he has Orlando…”

  “It’s my job, Carla. I have to show up.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. We agreed to meet in a few minutes.

  CHAPTER 23

  During our drive to Jade’s house, I got that weird prickly sensation on the back of my neck. Someone was watching me. I glanced in my rearview mirror. A white-haired woman drove a beige car on the residential street behind us. A black SUV with darkened windows trailed behind the beige one.

  Carla monitored the GPS system on her phone while I studied the neighborhood. The tile-roofed homes and tropical trees to my left were darkly silhouetted by the late afternoon sun, the houses on my right brightly highlighted. Another glance into my rearview showed the old lady slowing her car and turning into a driveway. The black car drifted along behind us.

  “Turn right at the next light,” Carla said. “The Palm Courts’ entrance is on that street.” Today her hair was pulled back in a silver and onyx clip, and she wore matching earrings.

  We were about to see where Jade had lived, and I was equally curious to see if the car behind shadowed us through the next couple of turns. At the light, I swung a right. So did the black SUV.

  “Carla, do you think your buddy George can run down a tag number?”

  “He can do anything, as long as I pay him. Why?”

  “I think we’re being followed. Can you sneak a look at the car behind us and jot down the tag number?”

  “Sure.” She didn’t jerk her head around to stare. Carla was the queen of cool. “This is one weird town.”

  She checked the side view mirror, then pulled a pen and memo pad from her patent leather bag. “Let me just get your jacket from the back seat.” Rising up and swiveling around on her knees, she made a show of reaching into the back seat with both hands to get my jacket. “Got it,” she said and pulled the jacket into the front seat.

  I glanced at her. Her hand was holding the pen and pad as well as the jacket. Something was scribbled on the paper.

  “Cool beans,” I said.

  “I didn’t try to see the driver,” she said.

  “Just as well. The windows are too dark anyway.”

  “Nikki, on your left. The entrance to Palm Courts.”

  The community’s developers had put a large a stone marker between the wide in-and-out lanes. The name “Palm Courts” emblazoned the structure’s face in bronze letters, while white-and-gold flowers bloomed brightly beneath. I made the right, and when I glanced in the rearview, the black SUV sped up and kept on going straight.

  Carla directed me through two more turns and told me to stop in front of a house that looked much like the ones we’d already passed—smooth cream or pastel stucco on the walls, with decorative archways, tiled roofs, and large windows abounding. Thick, green hedges or shrubbery partially hid most of the houses. Privacy was important in Palm Courts.

  “I guess this is where she grew up.” Carla said quietly.

  I stared at number 7 Palmetto Way. Did I only imagine it appeared lifeless and abandoned? If only I could see inside the house, get a look at Jade’s room, and meet the Paulsons. Except they were dead. How do you find a girl when you have no sense of who she is?

  “So,” I said, “you want to get out, or what?”

  “Give me a minute.” She drew in a long breath.

  I gazed at the houses around us. What did Carla have in mind? This wasn’t a community where neighbors hung out having cookouts and gossip sessions. We weren’t the police. Why would anyone talk to us?

  But I’d forgotten how Carla operated.

  She exhaled, pulled out her makeup case, fluffed some bronzer on her cheeks and used her lip gloss. “Would it hurt you to wear a little lipstick, Nikki?”

  “We’re trying to find your daughter, and you’re worried about lipstick?”

  “Perception is all. Put this on.” She pulled another tube from her case and thrust it into my hand.

  I know when to fight my battles and now wasn’t the time. I put the stuff on. Of course, the tawny shade was perfect.

  “You should get a haircut, too,” she said, studying my face.

  “Well, I can’t get one now.”

  “No. At the moment, you are representing the state of Florida’s Amber Alert System.”

  “I am?” But she seemed to have a plan. “Is that what it’s really called?” I asked.

  “I have no idea, but hopefully the people who
live around here don’t either.” She pulled up the briefcase by her feet and rummaged a moment. “Put this on.”

  She held an official looking badge. I stared. It had “Amber Alert” embossed on the plastic, and my photo.

  “How did you get this?”

  “George has his uses. I took the picture yesterday while you were flirting with Will, then I sent it to George.”

  I knew she’d been texting the previous evening, but hadn’t known she was taking my picture, only—

  “I wasn’t flirting with Will.”

  “You don’t need to get indignant. The guy’s adorable.”

  “You think?”

  “I do. He likes you.”

  I stuck the badge pin into my thumb. “Ouch!” A bead of blood welled on my skin. “Good thing my tee is black.” I got the badge in place and looked at Carla.

  Hers was already pinned to her jacket, and she was pulling a clipboard from the briefcase. “Since you don’t want to talk about Will, take a look at this.”

  I leaned toward her. The board held another official looking Amber Alert document. It displayed Jade’s high school picture.

  “This one is real,” she said, her fingertip lightly touching the photo. “And I have copies of that picture of Jade with her friend, too. Let’s go.”

  * * * *

  No one answered the door at number 9 Palmetto Way. But after Carla knocked on number 11, the door swung open to reveal a slim, attractive, forty-something woman in a yellow-and-green tennis outfit. The afternoon moved closer to five p.m., so as far as I was concerned, she had an excuse for the piña colada in her manicured hand.

  I could smell pineapple and coconut and almost asked for one. Glancing down, I brushed at a flake of dried horse poultice that clung to my t-shirt.

  Carla introduced us. “We’re investigating the disappearance of the Paulson girl.”

  The woman took in Carla’s face, the ID, the smart, black knit suit and smiled. People usually did.

  “Come on in,” she waved us across a marble floor down three steps and into a large room whose windows faced a lagoon, probably fed by the Intracoastal. “I’m Laura Wattley.” She indicated a grouping of pastel upholstered armchairs next to the window.

  “Have a seat.” We did, and after taking a sip of her cocktail, Laura said, “I still get the creeps when I think about what happened to the Paulsons. So close to us! And when the police interviewed us that night, it was—”

  “I’m sure it was terrible,” Carla said, “but the daughter’s missing and…”

  Carla’s lower lip started to tremble, so I jumped in. “Can you tell us anything that might help find her? You know, like who she hung out with?”

  Laura shook her head. “I didn’t really know the girl. She wasn’t old enough to drive, so when I did see her, she was usually sort of hidden in the car with her mother.”

  “Carla, show Laura the picture of Jade’s friend. Maybe she’s a neighborhood girl.”

  Carla pulled the envelope George had given her from her briefcase and took out the two photos. She handed Laura the one of Jade and her friend.

  Laura studied the picture. “Wow, I didn’t realize Jade was so pretty.” She glanced at Carla. “You know, she looks a lot like you.”

  Carla stiffened.

  “But what about the girl with Jade?” I said quickly. “Do you know who she is?”

  Laura took a slug of her piña colada. “You know, she might live around here. I think I saw her, maybe more than once, walking with Jade toward the mall or someplace.”

  “Did you tell the police about this?” I asked.

  “No, why would I?” She sounded defensive. “They didn’t ask me anything about this other girl.”

  Why was I not surprised?

  “Listen,” Laura said. “I have things I need to do…” She stood. Apparently our meeting was over.

  Carla cranked up her professional polish and thanked Laura as the woman ushered us to the front door. Then I thought of something.

  “Laura, did you ever notice a black car or SUV with dark windows cruising around the Paulson house?”

  Laura stopped and stared at me. “There was an SUV like that around here recently. I noticed it because of that disgusting pounding you hear with loud music.”

  I took a quick step toward her. “Do you know when you saw it?”

  “No. Is it that important?”

  “It’s hard to know what’s important in a case like this,” Carla said soothingly. “Laura, thank you again for your time.”

  We beat it back to my car, neither of us saying anything until I drove around the corner and stopped the Toyota. Didn’t want Laura giving my tag number to the police.

  “God,” Carla finally said. “The SUV she saw. Was it the one with the sickos who shot that girl?”

  The memories rushed at me, dark and horrifying. I still didn’t know her name, but I would never forget the look she gave me. I owed it to that girl to keep digging.

  Carla’s shaking hand caused the photos to rattle slightly inside the envelope. “Suppose those people have Jade?”

  “Don’t even think it,” I said. “Let’s keep interviewing people. We’ll cover more ground if we split up.”

  CHAPTER 24

  An hour later, I was starving and still knocking on doors in the Paulson’s cushy neighborhood. Carla, who pounded the pavement one block over, kept in touch on her cell.

  Every house I’d seen in Palm Courts backed onto a strip of Intracoastal water. Small docks and boats crammed the canals and the odor of stagnant salt water, dead fish, and motor oil was strong. No wonder the residents planted so many flowers, blooming bushes and trees.

  Sighing, I studied the picture of the two girls again. Jade’s friend had brown hair, knowing eyes, and a slightly crooked nose. Her lips were smothered in lipstick in a useless attempt to make them look fuller. I’d repeatedly shown this picture when I questioned people. So far, no one had recognized Jade’s friend.

  There had been the older beaky-nosed guy with pants suspendered almost to his armpits. He’d peered down at me and said, “Miss, this is not a door-to-door neighborhood, you’ll have to move on.”

  There’d been the desperate Scandinavian nanny who came to the door followed by two little boys throwing chocolate pudding at each other. A spoonful of the stuff had splattered my top, confirming my belief in the usefulness of black clothing.

  I’d met spoiled dogs, bored housewives, and a precocious teenage boy who’d tried to lure me inside for a beer. Or something.

  They’d all known about the Paulson murders and I’d received an earful on the subject, but no clues on the girl in the photo with Jade.

  A squeak and a door slam made me turn and look across the street. A girl with brown hair and plenty of makeup walked out the front door of number 10 Harbor Way. I’d already knocked there, but no one had answered. The girl moved down the sidewalk toward the street. She had a big pocket book on her shoulder, ear buds in her ears, and a slightly crooked nose.

  Damn, it was her!

  I used speed dial to reach Carla. “Get around here to number 10 Harbor Way. I’ve found Jade’s friend!” I closed the phone before angling across the street to cut the girl off.

  “Hi,” I said, “I need your help.”

  She gave me a blank look. The music on her ear set was loud enough I could hear the strident voice of a female pop star. The girl pulled out one of her ear buds.

  “Sorry, what?”

  I gestured at the badge still pinned to my top, then held out the photo of her and Jade. “This is you, right?”

  “Yeah,” she said, dialing down her iPod while staring at the Amber Alert emblem on the photo. “Does anyone know what happened to Jade yet?”

  “We don’t. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions that might help us find her.”

  “It’s about time somebody asked about her. The police never talked to me, and my parents…they told me not to get involved.” She pressed her lip
s together. “But I don’t know anything.”

  “Bet you know more than I do. Like your name.”

  “Tracy,” she said. “Tracy Johnson.”

  I pointed at my badge. “I’m with the Amber Alert program.” Liar, liar. “So you and Jade hung out together?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So when was the last time you saw Jade?”

  “Um. Last week…I think.”

  “How was she then?”

  “Okay, I guess.” Tracy threw a look over her shoulder at her house. Probably worrying about the parents.

  Getting this girl to open up was going to be like trying to win a race on a rocking horse.

  Carla clattered around the corner on her high heels and sped toward us. How did she move so fast in those things? She stopped in front of us, and Tracy’s jaw dropped.

  She stared hard at Carla. “You look like Jade.”

  “I’m her mother,” Carla said.

  “You mean, like her real mother? Like biological?”

  “Yes,” Carla replied.

  “Wow. But she says she’s never met you.”

  “No.” Carla paused, twisting her hands together. “I haven’t met her. But there’s nothing I want more.”

  Tracy nodded, then opened up like a bottle of champagne. “Okay, I didn’t tell you this, and you guys can’t tell anyone—like my parents—but last week Jade and I went to this modeling agency place. The woman who ran it had a guy—I think he was like the manager—come up from the back. They tried to hire Jade, not me. Anyway, Jade’s pretty sharp and wouldn’t sign anything. So the guy starts talking about this party in Fort Lauderdale. She told them she’d think about it, like she was trying to figure out if she could get around her parents, you know?”

  Carla seemed unable to answer.

  “Sure,” I said. “I know what you mean. Can you tell me what this guy looked like?”

  Tracy thought a moment. “He was old, maybe thirty, but cool looking. Had long black hair and an awesome tattoo on his arm.”

  My body grew still. “Can you describe the tattoo?”