Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1)

by Susan O’Brien

  I explained that somehow I was adjusting to the idea, that the crime was probably related to Marcus, and that the police were taking care of things. I also told him the kids were staying at Mom’s house just in case. That was probably the biggest relief of all.

  “So you’re still looking for Beth?”

  “I have to. Honestly, I doubt it has anything to do with her. And based on what that mailman said, maybe she is just a runaway who’s staying with her grandparents. But I really appreciate your concern.”

  I didn’t like my next thought. Many runaways fled homes that weren’t safe. Maybe Beth had escaped a terrible situation. Finding her might be her worst nightmare. Then again, Kenna was convinced Beth wanted to stay in Virginia, and April agreed. They might be right, but what if April’s house had been her only safe haven? Learning about April’s sexual orientation might have been the last straw that made her run.

  “What are you thinking?” Dean asked.

  “That I have to keep looking,” I admitted. My gut and heart felt it, I told him, and when I had that feeling, I couldn’t ignore it.

  “You’re big on gut instincts?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Me too. But you’re in danger. And my intuition says let the police handle it and keep your family safe.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I trust myself more than I trust you? My intuition says you should move in as my personal security guard? I settled on, “I hear you. But I can’t let go. I totally understand if you need to stop helping, though. You’ve been great.”

  “Take some time,” he said. “Think about what I said. And keep me posted no matter what. Don’t go this alone.”

  I left the academy with good wishes from Dean and paperwork on interviewing witnesses. The suggestions were pretty logical. Briefly establish rapport. Ask open-ended, non-leading questions. Listen closely to answers. Notice non-verbal cues. And clarify information. As a parent, I’d had some practice.

  I stopped at home before heading back to West Virginia. I was nervous, truth be told, to go anywhere gangs would expect me to be, and it didn’t look like Kenna or Andy was around. I parked in the garage, watched the door lower behind me, and felt trapped. What if someone was waiting inside? If they wanted to kill you, they would have done it already, I told myself in vain.

  I felt alone. Really alone. And scared. The only person you could count on—or ask to be involved—in a situation like this was a spouse, parent, sibling, or best friend. None of those was available. So I said a prayer and called Aunt Liz.

  “Hi, sweetheart!” she greeted me loudly. My impulse was to shush her, since I was in self-protection/hideout mode, but that was ridiculous.

  “Hi, Aunt Liz.” My voiced cracked along with my emotional armor. I couldn’t hide anything from her. That’s probably why I called. “I’m having a hard time.” Tears started to flow.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “I’m here. I’m listening.”

  I told her what had happened since we last talked. I confessed to being frozen in the driver’s seat, afraid to enter my house, afraid I’d waded in too deep, afraid more than two lives were at risk, and afraid it was my fault.

  “You never intended any of this,” she said.

  “I probably deserve it. I’m such an idiot.” I’d made big mistakes in the last decade. Believing in my marriage. Putting it on the back burner. Not pushing Dad to take better care of himself. Trying to do things I didn’t know how to do. Screwing them up.

  “You’re not an idiot. You’re trying to help people. And cruel punishment isn’t how God works.”

  She’d told me this before, but it felt good to hear it again. God is forgiving. He wants good things for us. His ways are always loving.

  “Will you stay on the phone with me while I go in the darn house?” I said with a tearful laugh.

  “Honey,” Aunt Liz said, “I’ll go anywhere with you.”

  The house was empty. I knew because with Aunt Liz on the line, I checked every closet, nook, and cranny. I also turned on lights in every room and inspected every lock. After that, part of me wanted to crawl into bed—or at least distract myself with Internet research, because if I went to West Virginia, I’d have to be brave and recheck the house when I got back. But a bigger part of me knew plunging forward, not hiding, was the only real solution.

  Aunt Liz made me promise to eat a meal before heading out, and although I lacked energy or desire to cook, she was right, so I deposited frozen lasagna in the microwave. 5-0-0, I jammed into the keypad. Watching the seconds tick away worsened my mood, so I went online to research Marcus’s—or C-16’s—rivals. The big one was Los Reyes, which meant the “The Kings.” Maybe they were my rival, too. The microwave’s shrill timer broke the silence and seemed to warn, You’re alone. Eat and get out.

  “I’m going to find Beth. I’m going to find Beth,” I chanted on the way to West Virginia, committing myself to the task. The more I said it, the better I felt. Sure, I was vulnerable and ignorant, but that wasn’t going to stop me. Aunt Liz had said something that gave me strength: Replace fear with faith. By the time I reached the Rushes’ neighborhood, I was so pumped that I couldn’t imagine sitting still; I wanted action. So after double-checking the notes from my last visit, I decided to take an undercover walk.

  It was still light enough that I could get away with wearing sunglasses, so I put them on, parked several blocks away, and added a hat. I was incognito. At the last second, I thought of wearing my iPod with the sound off.

  Walking briskly through fading rays of sunlight, I compared the neighborhood to mine. Smaller, older houses. Bigger, better yards. More diversity among developers. Less diversity among residents. Safe, but not as safe as my neighborhood, at least before yesterday. Despite being a vegetarian, I couldn’t help enjoying the smoky aroma of a cookout, wishing I was at home grilling with Kenna, Andy, and the kids.

  None of the neighbors looked familiar. No Hispanic woman leaving for work, businessman returning home, or couple playing basketball. This time I saw a middle-aged guy flipping burgers, tweenage boys on bikes, and an elderly woman gardening—no one I’d approach yet. When I finally reached the driveway where the couple had played basketball, I noticed a house for sale half a block away. Had I missed it before? I doubted it. Maybe it had just gone on the market. No matter what, it provided a good excuse to stop and look around.

  When Jason and I were house hunting, we’d walked up possible streets many times, chatting with neighbors, asking about the area. One woman, I recalled, told us about a hard-partying family with untrained dogs. Disaster averted! In the end, we built a new home, knowing nothing about who would join us on the street, except Kenna and Andy, and that was enough.

  Now I had a perfect excuse to approach someone. I looked around and set her in my sights.

  Eighteen

  “Excuse me,” I said to the old woman tending flowers in her front yard. Her short, white hair set off eyes so blue they distracted from her soft, deep wrinkles. She was beautiful, and her smile exuded kindness. She had to be in her eighties.

  “How can I help you?” she asked in a wobbly, confident voice.

  “I was looking at the home for sale up the street,” I said pointing to it, “and I’d love to know a bit about the neighborhood. Are you happy here?”

  “Oh I am,” she said. “I’m an original owner.” She gestured to her white ranch with freshly painted black shutters. Alone, it would have been ordinary, but surrounded by colorful flowers, it was a cheerful oasis. White Adirondack chairs were strategically placed on the lawn to admire the view.

  “Your garden is incredible,” I said.

  “Thank you. It’s my pride and joy. Flowers are great company.”

  I took that to mean she lived alone. “They’re gorgeous,” I enthused. “Your neighbors are lucky to have you next
door. What can you tell me about living here?”

  “You’re welcome to have a seat,” she offered. “If it doesn’t interrupt your workout.” She eyed my iPod, and I removed the earbuds.

  If I sit down, I might be here a while, I thought. But if I don’t, I might miss something. I sat.

  “Thank you,” I said. “So you really like the area?”

  “Nowhere is perfect,” she said diplomatically. “But it’s certainly nice enough. Safe. Do you have children?”

  “I do,” I said. “They play outside a lot, so good neighbors are especially important to me.”

  “That’s where kids should be,” she said, “not in front of the TV. When I was a girl in Colorado, I spent every waking hour outside. It’s how I learned to respect nature. Of course we didn’t have TV or computers back then.” She smiled at her flowers.

  I thought about my kids. When they were outside, it was often on pavement or in a pool. And my only efforts to garden were trimming bushes that came with the house. Until now, I’d never given it a second thought.

  “Are there many kids in the neighborhood?”

  “We’ve got some that live there.” She aimed a garden-gloved finger at a house near the one for sale. “Precious little preschoolers.”

  She went on to name other families with kids, but she didn’t mention the Rushes. I considered Beth a child, but technically she was an adult.

  “How about teenagers?”

  “Not many of those. We have mostly older folks and young families. Which is nice.”

  “You know, I think I may know someone who moved here recently. She’s a young woman who’s pregnant. Have you noticed anyone like that?” I asked.

  “The only pregnant girl I know is Dr. Rush’s granddaughter.” She pointed to the Rush house. “I’m not sure of her name.”

  My stomach flipped, but I hid my excitement, paced myself, and asked when she’d seen her.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Certainly in the past month. I just returned from my daughter’s in Cleveland, and it was before that. When did your friend move here?”

  “About two weeks ago.” That’s when Beth had disappeared. “Are the Rushes friends of yours?”

  “I wish I could say so, but they keep to themselves. I can’t fault them though. He’s a busy obstetrician, and I hear his practice is excellent.”

  It was crucial to wait until I found the right source—someone in whom I could confide—to reveal why I was here, but I felt like I’d found her, and I had to pounce. I hoped it wasn’t a huge mistake.

  “Please don’t think I’m crazy, but I’d like to confide in you about something.”

  “I can’t imagine what, but I’ve kept many a secret over the years. Go right ahead.” Her blue eyes sparkled.

  “I was looking at that house for sale and getting to know your neighborhood, but not because I might move here. I’m actually looking for a missing, pregnant girl. She disappeared from Virginia two weeks ago, and her grandparents are the Rushes. So if you’ve seen her since then, it will be a relief, because we’ll know she’s with them. Is there any way to pinpoint when you last saw her?”

  “Heavens,” she said. “My memory is terrible.” She sat and pressed shaking fingertips to her temple. “Let me think.”

  I waited patiently but tensely, feeling sweat leaving my pores. “Maybe you remember the weather, or what she was doing. Anything that might indicate the time.”

  “Oh my goodness.” She frowned. “I just don’t know.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Don’t worry. We can probably figure it out. But please don’t mention anything to the Rushes or their granddaughter. If she’s here, it might scare her off, and in her condition, she needs to be somewhere safe.”

  “She’d certainly be safe with him, since he’s a doctor,” she said. “But why would she leave Virginia? And why wouldn’t her parents know if she’s here?” There was concern in her voice and eyes.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m hoping to find out.”

  “Is she running away from something?”

  “Other than the stress of being young and pregnant, I’m not sure, but a lot of people are worried about her. They just want to know she’s okay.”

  “Are you working for them somehow?”

  “Well, it sounds funny, but I’m training to be a private investigator, and I have a personal connection to the case. So I’m working on it with one of my teachers.”

  “Oh! A private investigator? I don’t think I’ve ever met one of those. I wish I could help. When I saw the girl, she looked fine, if that’s any consolation.”

  “It’s wonderful. What was she doing? Do you remember?”

  “Just coming and going from the house to the car. I’ve seen her on and off over the years, but this time stood out because of her condition.” She pulled off her gardening gloves and reached a hand toward me. “I don’t think we’ve properly met. I’m Edith Huggins.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Edith. I’m Nicki. Thank you so much for taking all this time to talk with me.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” she said. “Now let’s figure out how I can help.”

  We decided Edith would notice when the Rushes came and went and make a point to say hello. She even said I could observe from her house.

  “Sometimes I make cookies and deliver them to neighbors,” she said, “although they’re not usually among them, unless it’s a holiday. I could do that tomorrow and ask all about their granddaughter!”

  Her enthusiasm was contagious. Who better to ask about a granddaughter than a grandma? I felt like I needed to pull back the reins, though. If Beth was here, I should notify the police and let them handle the recovery. I shared my concern with Edith.

  “That’s sensible,” she agreed. “I wish I knew when I saw her. That’s going to drive me nuts.”

  “Tell you what,” I said, “I’ll ask one of Beth’s friends if Beth visited her grandparents before she disappeared. And you can notify the police that you may have seen her. I’ll give you the number to call. Meanwhile, if you run into the Rushes, you might ask some key questions.”

  I listed them for her. Was Beth there now? If not, when was she last there? Had she given birth? How was her health—and the health of the baby?

  Edith went inside to take notes and returned with her shakily written name and number on floral stationery. I tucked it deep into my pocket. It felt like gold.

  “You may have solved this case, Edith,” I said. Yet it didn’t feel solved. As she said, if Beth was here, why wouldn’t her parents know? I gave her a flyer about Beth and added my contact information. “Let’s talk tomorrow,” I suggested. “It was a blessing to meet you.”

  “Lovely to meet you, too,” she said. “Wait just a minute.” She retrieved shears from a bucket and snipped four large blossoms—fuchsia, orange, white, and yellow—from a long row of flowering plants. “Take these home.”

  “Thank you so much.” I held them out for a good look. “I love them.”

  “Know what they are?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “But I’d love to.”

  “Zinnias.” She leaned in closer. “Now I’ll tell you a little secret.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “They’re a lot easier to grow than they look.”

  It was almost dark when I got to my car, and officially night when I got home. I’d stopped on the way to drop off the rental and pick up my van, which now sported a new tire. As I pulled up, Kenna’s porch light blinked on and she tiptoed out, barefoot and in a bathrobe. I put down my window.

  “Come over,” she hissed.

  I was tired, but she needed an update, and I was scared to enter my house. I grabbed the essentials, including Edith’s flowers, and dashed over to Kenna’s steps.


  “Hi,” I said. “Where’s Andy?”

  She looked me up and down, incredulous. “Have you been exercising?”

  “Just walking. This investigation stuff requires it.” I handed her the flowers. “Let’s talk and you can put these in a vase.”

  “Andy’s working late tonight,” she said over her shoulder as I closed her door and turned the lock. “It’s baseball season.” Andy specialized in writing about baseball and football. “I’m so glad we can talk. But where are the kids?”

  “They’re at my mom’s. Special treat.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her about my tire. Not yet.

  We turned left into her kitchen, which she’d upgraded with cherry cabinets and dark, speckled granite, leaving me in the dust with builder-grade oak and white laminate.

  Pulling a stool to the counter, I assessed Kenna’s face as she filled a vase with water and arranged the zinnias. Dark circles gave depth to her eyes, and her cheekbones were sharp. If she was too depressed to eat, she’d hit a new low, and I couldn’t imagine telling her Beth might be in West Virginia, planning to raise the baby—never mind that my car had been shot.

  Ignoring the pit forming in my stomach, I got up and opened the refrigerator, hoping she’d join me. “What sounds good?”

  “Help yourself,” she said. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

  I turned to face her. She’d moved to the table and was resting her chin on a palm, expectant.

  “I’m worried about you,” I said. “You look thinner than usual.”

  “It’s just stress. I need this to be over. Have you made any progress?”

  I closed the fridge, leaned on it, and crossed my arms over my chest. “Nothing concrete.”

  “Anything iffy? I can tell you’re holding back, so spill it. I want to know.”