“Well, she’s missing from Virginia, and she might be staying in this area. A lot of people are really worried about her.”
“I’m not allowed to answer questions like that,” he said, taking me by surprise. “Unless you got a federal ID or something.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“You look nice and everything, but for all I know, you’re out to do her harm. With all the stalkers and crazy people today, we’ve got rules about this stuff. To get answers, you’d have to file paperwork with my manager.”
“Really?”
“Yup.”
“So you can’t tell me anything? Not even if you haven’t seen her?” I rested my arm on his truck so he’d stay put.
“I can’t,” he said. “But you should ask around.” He gestured toward the Rush home and beyond. I couldn’t tell if that was a hint. I hadn’t mentioned their family.
“I would, but I’m afraid I’ll scare her away. We just want to know she’s safe. She’s been missing almost two weeks.” I pulled a flyer from my pocket and unfolded it. “This is her. If you’ve seen her, please report it.”
“Of course,” he said. “And remember, you can file that paperwork.” He made eye contact and paused. “Assuming you’re someone official, which, no offense, you don’t look.”
“I’m not,” I confessed, hoping for sympathy. “But I have good intentions. Is there any way you can bend the rules, just a tiny bit, without breaking them?”
He was quiet for a long moment, squinting and biting his lip.
Please, please, please, I thought.
“Nope,” he said. “Sorry. But why don’t you give me that flyer?”
“Sure.” I handed it over.
“Trust me,” he said. “That’ll help more than anything.” He shifted into drive. “Good luck.”
I removed my arm from his truck. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
He nodded and pulled away.
Fourteen
Any fear I had about talking to Dean vanished with this news. Rob had seen Beth. I felt it. And now he’d probably do something about it.
I crossed the street and resisted the urge to hug Dean and squeal.
“That was interesting,” I understated. I inhaled deeply and exhaled emotion.
“I want to hear about it,” Dean said. “But we should talk further away. Let’s meet a few streets up.”
He followed the van at a dull roar. During the short trip, reality hit hard, halting my adrenaline surge. If Beth was a runaway, it was for a reason—a reason that could devastate Kenna. I wasn’t sure I was capable of breaking that news. Kenna would be relieved to know Beth was okay, and somehow, she’d recover. I had to believe that.
I stopped at an empty playground parking lot and waited while Dean secured his bike and helmet. I tried not to stare, but it was tough.
I diverted my attention to the park with a mommy eye. Was the mulch deep enough for a serious tumble? Would the slide be too hot in the sun? What was the highest, most dangerous point kids could reach—and where would they land if they fell? I sat on a bench and decided everything looked okay.
When Dean joined me, I focused on his tattoo. An angel’s wings spread gracefully across his left shoulder.
“It’s for my mom,” he said.
“It’s really beautiful.” I hesitated to go on. “Did she pass away?”
“A long time ago. When I was in middle school. She’s always looking out for me, so I got this when I joined the Army.”
I remembered a line in his bio that said he’d been an MP. There was so much I could say but so little felt right. How awful it was to lose a parent. How sorry I was that he suffered. How much I worried about my kids without their dad. But his voice was steady and confident. He didn’t want comforting.
“It’s an amazing tattoo,” I said. “I love it.”
“Thanks.” He smiled. “So tell me what you learned today. Don’t keep me in suspense.”
I started to fill him in, but he held up a hand when I got to the termite inspection.
“Stop right there,” he said. “Wait ’til we get to trespassing and right to privacy in class. Then tell me if you should have done that.” His twinkling eyes told me he wasn’t upset, but I was mortified anyway. I’d never tell him the story about visiting Marcus’s house.
“Good thing I’m not a real PI yet,” I said, scrunching my nose. “I have a lot to learn.”
“You had a great cover,” he said. “I’ll give you that. Termite inspector. Pretty creative. Did you get any leads?”
“Not at their house.” I told him about the conversation with Rob. “I was afraid to knock on neighbors’ doors,” I added. “I didn’t want to tip anyone off.”
“I agree with that,” Dean said to my relief. “We shouldn’t canvass the neighborhood yet. If Beth is here, it might spook her. And if we do talk to neighbors, we need to pick them carefully, meaning we should look for people who won’t spill the beans.” He glanced at his cell phone. “I’ve got about an hour. Wanna walk around the neighborhood one more time?”
“Starting here?” I asked.
“Yeah. Let’s walk back toward the house, but circle around this way.” He pointed to a path that ran behind the park.
“Where does that go?”
“Through the neighborhood, right past their block.”
“Oh. How do you know that?” Maybe he’d been here before.
“I check Google Earth before I go anywhere.”
“Right,” I said, making a mental note.
Dean stood and pocketed his phone. “You got a great lead today,” he said. “Let’s get some more.”
I clutched my necessities—cell phone and keys, wondering what else Dean and I would discuss.
“So how are your kids doing?” he asked first thing.
I struggled to answer without gushing. My kids are endlessly fascinating to me, but is anyone else really interested in Jack’s Lego creations or Sophie’s death-defying feats? Relatives and close friends, sure. My dad liked to hear it all. Jason had been in love with his kids, just not with me. I blinked to dispel sad thoughts.
“They’re great. The joys of my life.”
“They’re adorable,” he said.
“Thanks. Do you have any?”
His bio was all professional, and since he didn’t wear a ring, I assumed he was single. How many married guys ride motorcycles and have tattoos? Not enough, I thought, surprising myself. In a matter of minutes, Dean had transformed me from a motorcycle hater to a biker chick wannabe. His tattoo even had me thinking about one to honor my dad. A plane, maybe.
“Kids? Nope. Never married.”
“I’m a widow,” I blurted.
“Really?” he said. “That’s unbelievable. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s been a while. Four years. I’m adjusting.” I smiled reassuringly.
He didn’t ask for details, and I didn’t offer them. I didn’t want to discuss Jason’s death, but sometimes it was necessary, such as when I met the kids’ teachers, who simply needed to know. Most people assumed I was married or divorced, and, oddly enough, I was guilty of assuming the same about others my age. Married, divorced or never married. Not a widow or widower. It just shouldn’t be.
A flicker of resentment burned in my chest. It was bad enough to mourn someone you love, but being rejected at the same time—discovering infidelity—was another. Short of hiring a medium, which, believe me, I’d considered, I’d never be able to confront Jason or his mistress and get my questions answered. That was hard to swallow. Over time, I’d taken my best guesses and come to terms with it. I’d even pressed Andy about it. He swore he had no idea. That’s what everyone said.
“So tell me how
you got into investigation,” I said.
While an MP, he explained, he’d been injured in a scuffle, leading to prolonged—but ultimately temporary—vision loss. When he left the military, that meant law enforcement wasn’t an option, but he didn’t want to give up the work he loved. So he took a job in security and finally settled on debugging to mix his passion for investigation and high-tech equipment.
He asked about me, too, and actually listened to the answers, which suggested that despite his amazing looks, he wasn’t self-absorbed. Between his mom-inspired tattoo and friendly curiosity, I got the scary feeling he had depth and character. This could be trouble.
Who knows what he thought of me. I was so self-conscious I couldn’t relax into the conversation. I stumbled through explaining why I wanted to be a PI, at one point giving the misimpression I didn’t need to work. Truth was I had enough to survive and plan for the future, but not enough to open bills without anxiety. Meanwhile, I had an insatiable appetite for understanding criminal cases and making things right. Being home with my kids came first, and I was lucky to have that luxury, but soon I’d need a job with decent pay and intellectual stimulation—something that could expand when my kids were in school full time.
By now we’d reached the Rushes’ street, and I wondered if Dean would notice anything I hadn’t. He suggested we stay on the opposite side of the street, as if we were on a casual walk, and then circle the block so he could get a 360˚ view.
Oh, sure, I thought. A casual walk? A sweaty, unkempt woman with a superhot guy? That won’t draw any questioning looks. Maybe we should hold hands and make it even more convincing.
We were silent as Dean took in the front of the home. His eyes moved slowly over the exterior. I didn’t think he’d miss a thing.
“Everything’s neat,” he said quietly. “Fresh paint. Trimmed bushes. Smooth driveway. They have enough money to keep things nice.”
“He’s a doctor. His office was a lot like the house. Older. Plain. Neat. Nothing fancy.”
I should have checked the waiting-room magazines, I thought. To me, a tidy, up-to-date selection shows a certain level of success and consideration for others.
“What were they driving?”
I told him the affordable make and recent model.
“Is money important in this case?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Not especially. Just noticing everything to get a feel for these people. Could they afford to take on a grandchild and her baby? They look like penny pinchers. But not hurting for money.”
“Yeah. That’s the way it looks,” I said, thinking about my house and van. Both needed touchups and repairs. What did that say about me? I’m busy? Tired? Short on money? All of the above, I thought.
Dean did a lap around the house, jostled a hollow-sounding trash can on the curb, and joined me for the walk back to my van.
“Nothing so far indicates Beth is staying here except what the mailman said, or didn’t say, which is huge,” he said.
“Do you think she’s here?” I asked.
“I’m hopeful, but I don’t know.”
“Meanwhile, I have no idea what to do,” I admitted. “Where should I go from here? If she’s here, I don’t want to scare her away.”
“Right. You have to be careful. Observe for as long as you can. See who you think might be willing to talk without tipping her off. How long can you stick around?”
“My mom will babysit today as long as I need her.”
“Okay, then I’m going to take care of my business. You go out and get some lunch and a cold drink.” This confirmed that I looked like a wilted plant. “Let’s meet around the time Dr. Rush’s office closes,” he continued. “We’ll follow him and see if it leads anywhere. If you have sunglasses or a hat, stick them on, since Mrs. Rush has already seen you today.”
“You don’t have to come back and help me,” I said.
“Let me see how my business goes,” he said. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”
“Can I pick up anything for you?” I said.
“No thanks. But after your break, park a ways away and keep an eye on things. Notice absolutely everything about the entire neighborhood, and write it all down. I’ll touch base in a couple hours.”
“Sounds good.”
We returned to our vehicles and drove in opposite directions.
If Burger King had a shower and a hair dryer, my stop there would have been almost perfect. I briefly considered paying the day rate to freshen up at a local health club, but since I didn’t have a change of clothes or makeup, I discarded the idea. Instead I munched on vegetarian fries (which didn’t have “natural beef flavor” like a competitor’s did) and forced down water instead of the soda I craved. By the time I finished, I felt chilly in the restaurant, so I ordered a decaf coffee to go.
My next stop was the gas station again, where I topped off the tank, not knowing exactly how far I’d drive (or how long I’d sit) over the next few hours. I bought a magazine, a cooler, ice, water, and a trucker hat.
I didn’t want to go back to the Rushes’ house yet, so I stopped at a drug store to pick up face powder, blush, lip balm, and deodorant. I decided to keep them in the van as “emergency supplies.”
After putting them to good use, I returned to surveillance in sunglasses and the hat—same old van—to watch the home. I parked in a new location and thumbed through a magazine, keeping an eye out for Beth or any kind of movement. Who knew? Maybe I’d see a UPS delivery from Babies “R” Us.
After an hour of boredom with just a few cars passing by, I called Mom and Kenna to check in.
Mom’s offer to pick up the kids from camp reminded me of Dean’s loss. He couldn’t call his mom for anything. Was his Dad still alive? I wished I’d asked.
Another hour later, during which I confess I left the AC on, Dean called. He had to go back to the office and couldn’t rejoin me to follow Dr. Rush. But he’d see me at Saturday’s class, when I’d have plenty of time to humiliate myself with inferior surveillance skills.
Seeing no one in, around, or anywhere near the house, I returned to Dr. Rush’s office, where I parked in front and resolved that from now on, I was bringing audiobooks or podcasts on surveillance—or maybe I’d sign up for satellite radio, assuming my PI career didn’t end before it started. Watching and waiting was boring, but reading was probably a no-no.
Finally, at 4:30 p.m. (as I dutifully noted on a surveillance log), Dr. and Mrs. Rush drove away from the office, stopped at a grocery store, and went home. This time, I wrote down their license plate number and watched their garage door open and close, again at a safe distance. It was hard to see much inside, but there were no other cars in the garage, and nothing out of the ordinary, just stacked boxes, a mower, a bike, and some kind of banner on the back wall.
I was ready to head home soon, certain the couple was in for the night, when the door reopened, and the black sedan backed out. I froze, straining to see who was inside. It was Dr. Rush, alone. I let him pull a few blocks ahead before following. From several cars back, just like I’d learned in class, I tracked his car for a few miles, until he turned into a complex of stately buildings on a beautiful, treed campus. I caught its name as I passed its closing gates: Asheleigh Manor.
I wanted to know what it was, and I also needed to check in at home, so I pulled onto a side street, struggled to load the Asheleigh Manor website on my phone, and called Mom.
“How’s it going, sweetheart?” she asked.
“First tell me about you guys,” I said.
“Well everyone had a great day at camp. I took them to the pool, and now we’re finishing dinner. Do you want to say hello?”
“Sure. Put me on speaker.”
“Say hi to your Mom,” she instructed cheerfully.
“Hi, Mom!” was the united response.<
br />
“Hi sweeties!” I confirmed their day was going well and they were having fun with Grandma.
“We get donuts for dessert,” Jack said. “Grandma took us to that place you never let us go.”
“Really?”
“Sorry, honey,” Mom piped up. “It’s Grandma’s prerogative.” I couldn’t argue.
“What flavors did you pick, guys?”
“Stwaberry fwosting!” Sophie yelled, apparently in the midst of enjoying it.
“I got vanilla cream,” Jack said.
“Mmmm,” I said. “Yummy! Well, keep having fun. Grandma, can you take me off speaker?” The phone clicked. “I won’t be too late, Mom, but I was hoping you’d do me a favor.”
“Of course.”
“Can you go into my office and look up a website for me when you have a minute?”
“Oh, Nicki, you know how terrible I am at that stuff.”
“It’ll be easy. I promise.”
“Well, the kids are busy with the donuts.” She sighed. “I’m walking to your office.”
I thanked her again for the navigation system, an embarrassingly life-changing gift. I got lost plenty in life, but at least now on the road, I knew where I was going. Then in the simplest, most patient words I could find, I reminded her how to access the Internet and type in a website.
“Asheleigh Manor provides short- and long-term care for individuals with special needs,” Mom read aloud, “including complex psychiatric diagnoses and developmental disabilities.” She stopped. “Nicki, I can’t imagine why on Earth you need this information.”
“It has to do with the investigation, Mom. It’s probably not important. But keep reading if you don’t mind.”
She described how the Manor assured families of its commitment to “quality of life” and staff who loved their work, clients, and community. It had been founded by a local woman whose son suffered a traumatic brain injury, and now it was a major local employer.
Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) Page 17