“She hasn’t called in a couple of months. She must have figured we forgot about it.”
“Not a chance. But there’s a reason they call them cold cases. I think I’ll read over the notes again this afternoon.”
Richard almost laughed. “It’s the only file folder in the new cabinet, so you won’t have trouble tracking it down.”
I got up from my desk to look. Sure enough, the folder rattled around in the big four-drawer steel cabinet. I retrieved it and took it back to my desk, eyeing the clock on my way.
I sat down, opened the folder, and looked at the first page. In a nutshell, the little five-year Amy Stoddard had been playing in her front yard on a Sunday afternoon in October. He mother had been keeping an eye on her from inside the kitchen while ironing. The little girl had been there one minute, and gone the next. Mrs. Andrews had gone outside and called the girl, but she’d received no answer. The child’s doll was found on the curb near the driveway, but there was no sign of the girl.
After scouting the neighborhood, Mrs. Andrews had knocked on neighbor’s doors to no avail. Less than an hour after the girl had gone missing, the police had been called. One of the neighbors thought they might have seen a banged-up station wagon stop, but they hadn’t seen the little girl and didn’t remember anything else about the car except that it seemed to have one occupant.
Despite heavy press coverage, there were no real leads. She’d been listed on the National Registry for Missing and Exploited Children, but no one had seen or heard from her since. The distraught parents had eventually divorced, and the mother left the area—no doubt to escape the memory of her lost child. The probability of the girl still being alive were next to nothing, and yet she hadn’t matched the description of the bodies of the Jane Doe juveniles who’d been found.
I looked at the black-and-white photo of the little girl. She was a cutie-pie all right. And she looked just a little familiar, although I couldn’t put my finger on why. When I looked up at the clock again, it was twelve twenty.
“I need to stretch my legs,” I said and got up from my new desk.
“Yeah, I could use a break, too,” Richard said. “Let’s get some lunch.”
“I’m, uh, kind of made some plans for lunch.”
Richard looked up. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I ran into someone at the office supply store the other day and sort of made a coffee date to interview her for the job.”
“What job?”
“Receptionist.”
“We just talked about it. We don’t need one.”
“Well, on Wednesday I thought we might.”
“Who is she?”
“Just someone I met when working with Sam—” My reporter friend from The Buffalo News. “She said she wasn’t happy with her current job. She didn’t have time to talk then, so I suggested coffee.”
It was Richard’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Where are you going?”
“McDonalds.”
“You couldn’t go anywhere better?”
“It’s centrally located,” I fudged.
“Brenda already thinks we’re wasting a ton of money. I don’t know how she’d feel about us hiring someone so soon.”
“I’m not going to offer her a job. Just see how she’d feels about it.”
Richard shrugged.
I felt like I needed to push a little more. “I haven’t done any kind of office work—especially supervisory work—in years. I need practice.”
He nodded. “I’m glad to see you taking some initiative. Sometimes it doesn’t seem like you’re all that interested in our business.”
“I’m interested, just hesitant.”
He glanced at the clock. “You’d better get going. Give me a full report later, huh?”
Full? Not likely. I wasn’t at all sure of my motives when it came to seeing Emily once again.
* * *
Emily was ten minutes late getting to McDonald’s. I motioned her to join me at a table in the back, and then fetched coffee for both of us.
“Where’s Hannah?”
“She got invited to a friend’s house for a sleepover.”
“Oh, I was looking forward to seeing her again.” I picked up a white paper bag. I’d had just enough time to hit the bakery before coming here. “I remembered that you both like cookies.”
Emily’s smile was tentative. “That was very thoughtful of you.”
“Chocolate chip for you, and turkey cut-outs for Hannah.”
“She’ll be thrilled. Do you mind?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Would you like one, too?”
“I’m not a sweets guy.”
She dipped into the bag, grabbing one of the cookies by the piece of bakery tissue, then took a bite and swallowed. “Love it.”
I couldn’t help smiling. We looked at each other for long seconds.
“So, what’s the story behind your broken leg?” she asked, again noting the cane that hung over the back of the chair next to me.”
I let out an ironic laugh. “I got a racing bike. Thought it would be healthy to ride around on it. I got hit by an SUV. Really messed up my right leg. It’s getting better, but not as fast as I’d like.”
“I got hit by a car when I was a little girl. I had a broken leg and a fractured skull.”
I winced. Did I dare tell her about my own fractured skull? Not yet.
Yet? That implied that we’d have future conversations. And maybe we would if she was available to be our receptionist. That is, if she was looking for a job. That is, if we ever needed anyone in that capacity. I knew I should stick to business, but what was wrong with catching up with someone you hadn’t seen in two years?
“The last time we talked, you were working at a bookstore part time.”
Emily took a sip of her coffee and nodded. “I needed to work more hours. Once Hannah was in school, I got the job in the doctor’s office, but it’s only thirty-five hours—not technically full time, so he doesn’t have to pay benefits.”
Cheap bastard.
“What’s his field?”
“Pediatrics.”
“My brother’s a doctor, but he doesn’t practice.”
“Didn’t you say the two of you we’re going into business together?”
“Yeah. We’re not yet prepared to hire clerical help, but I kind of wondered when we were if you’d like to interview for the job.”
“I don’t know. What would it entail?”
“I don’t know. We only just got our furniture and other stuff yesterday. The office is kind of a mess right now, but my brother’s a neatnik so it won’t stay that way.”
She smiled. “I can tell you what I do in the doctor’s office; maybe that would give you an idea of what you do or don’t need.”
“Shoot.”
She told me that she took care of patient records, scheduled appointments, and was often required to clean the bathrooms.”
“Aw, that sucks.”
“Low woman on the totem pole,” she answered succinctly.
“Richard—my brother—has already arranged for someone to come in and clean the office. I don’t know what the schedule is. I’m sure it’ll be more often once we get a clientele.”
“Do you have any cases yet?”
“Just one so far. We haven’t made much headway on it, either. But now that we’ve got the office, we’ll make it a priority.”
She nodded.
What could we talk about now? Best to keep it business.
“I really don’t know what salaries are like here in Buffalo. We haven’t talked to an agency yet.”
She laughed. “Pay me ten bucks more a week than the pediatrician and I’m all yours.”
I matched her smile. Maybe we could.
* * *
I went back to the office, but Richard had already left for the day. He’d promised Brenda he would try not to work on weekends, but since we were just setting things up, had wanted to get at least half a day in. He pr
obably wouldn’t show up again until Monday. That gave me lots of time to get my area fixed the way I wanted it, and also to spend more time going through our cold case file.
I read those notes two times more and still nothing came to me. I had hours to kill, so I figured before I headed for Maggie’s place, I’d drive by the house where the little girl lived. I wondered if any of the neighbors who’d lived there at the time of her disappearance were likely to still be there. The odds were against it.
Finally, I locked the office door and headed for my car. We needed a stereo system or at least a radio in the place. Of course, then I’d likely be subjected to Richard’s favorite—classical music—but I would refuse to listen to the stuff that sounded too much like funeral dirges. We’d be dealing with enough death and suffering to be subjected to that.
The sun had already set by the time I arrived at Amy Stoddard’s former address, but streetlights left pools of light on the asphalt between all the houses. I parked the car in one of the darker zones and got out. Lights were on in most of the houses, but not Amy’s former residence. Maybe they’d gone out to dinner, or were perhaps ensconced in a family room out back. Just as well, I didn’t need anyone paying attention to me.
I walked up and down the sidewalk in front of the house, which was old and cracked. Amy had probably walked on it, too. After a couple of circuits, I stopped and stood over what looked like an old break in the cement and just stared at it, thinking. About a little girl. About a car. She had to have been abducted in a car.
If I hadn’t recently broken too many bones in my leg, I would have crouched down and touched the concrete, but my ankle was still pretty dicey when it came to that kind of movement. But the idea of the car stayed with me.
“Hey, what are you up to?” came a male voice from out of the darkness across the street.
I didn’t answer, but looked in his direction.
A man in his late sixties or early seventies emerged from the shadows. He was zippering up a jacket, like he’d been in a hurry to get out here, but kept his distance, not crossing the street. “What’s your business?” he asked, not sounding at all friendly.
“My name’s Jeff Resnick and I’m with R & A Insights.”
“What’s that?”
“A consulting firm.”
“And what are you consulting on?”
“A cold police case—a missing child; Amy Stoddard.”
“She lived across the street,” the man said, and nodded toward the house I stood before.
“Were you living here when she disappeared?”
He nodded. “We’d only moved in a couple of weeks before. My wife wanted to leave the neighborhood after that. We had a three-year old and she was afraid the same thing might happen to him.”
“What do you think happened?”
He shrugged. “My son said a car hit her.”
“What?”
“He told us he saw a car hit Amy, and that a woman got out, picked the girl up and put her in the back seat of the car, and then drove away?”
“Did you tell the police?”
“No. This was a week or two after Amy went missing. We figured he made it up, or maybe saw something on TV that made an impression on him. Let’s face it; a three-year-old isn’t a reliable witness.”
True, but I had a feeling what that little boy said he saw actually happened.
“Is there anything else you remember about the girl?”
The man frowned. “She was small for her age. My wife thought maybe Amy and our son could have a play date, but found the girl was two years older than our boy.”
“I don’t suppose your son remembers what he saw all these years later?”
“I doubt it.”
“Is he still here in Buffalo? Could I speak with him?”
The man shook his head. “James works for a congressman in Washington. He barely has time to speak to us. I doubt he’d take time out of his busy day to talk about an incident that happened when he was barely out of diapers.”
“Would you humor me?” I asked.
He shrugged, took out his cell phone and flipped through his contacts list. Then he read me the number and gave me his son’s full name.”
“Thanks.”
“Why are you so interested in this?” he asked.
“The police would like to be able to close the books on this girl’s disappearance.”
“And they hired you to do it?”
“No tax dollars involved,” I assured him.
“Then you’re doing this because—?”
“We’re a new business. In fact, so new—I don’t even have business cards. We just got our phone number and moved into office space yesterday, but we do have the beginnings of a website.” I gave him the URL and I had no doubt he would go right inside and Google us.
I offered him my hand. “Thanks for your help.”
“I can’t see how anything I’ve said can solve your case, but good luck anyway.”
“Thanks.”
He watched as I got back in my car and drove off down the street, heading for Sheridan Drive. Was it possible the twenty plus year memories of a small boy could help us find out what happened to Amy Stoddard?
Only time would tell.
Chapter Three
I pulled up in front of Maggie’s bungalow, turned off the engine and sat there for a few minutes. I really hated that house. Back in the summer, she’d wanted me to come along with her on her house-hunting forays, but it was right after the accident and getting in and out of cars—especially a compact like she drove, was a nightmare. Her sister, Sandy, had helped her pick out this house—no doubt because it was close by and she hoped Maggie might babysit her kids on occasion.
I didn’t want to go inside that creepy place. Maggie hadn’t done much to put her own stamp on the place. She said she wanted to live in it for a while to get the feel of it. I’d already gotten more than my taste of a feeling of the place. I’d stayed over a few times, but had nightmares that left me sweating and shaking, while Maggie slept like a baby.
The front door opened and I saw Maggie standing in silhouette. Time to face my demons.
I got out of the car and headed up the walk. I should have brought something—a bottle of wine, maybe a bag of bakery cookies for Maggie, too, but I hadn’t thought about it until I was nearly to her drive. Next time.
“Hey, stranger,” Maggie said and greeted with a kiss. Her dog, Holly, met me at the door, too, but her tail wasn’t wagging. In fact, now that I thought about it, I hadn’t seen the dog’s tail wag much since she arrived at her new home. They say animals are sensitive to wayward spirits—was that was had attached itself to the little brick bungalow?
“Hey, girl.” I rubber her ears, and Holly looked up at me with adoring eyes.
I walked into the living room and peeled off my jacket. Maggie took it from me and hung it in the coat closet. I could see into the dining room. Maggie had pulled out all the stops. A linen tablecloth, her best china, crystal glassware, and candles—so far unlit—adorned the table.
“Wow. I’m impressed. What’s the occasion?”
“Why don’t you make us a couple of drinks and I’ll tell you.”
“I knew where she kept the liquor and found everything I needed to make myself a bourbon on the rocks and a whiskey sour for her. I carried them into the living room where new age music played softly on the stereo.
Maggie was already seated on the couch and I handed her the glass before I plunked down beside her. “Do we toast first, or do you tell me your good news.” I assumed it must be good for all the fanfare.
“‘A drink must proceed the telling of news,’” she quoted from a little ceramic plaque that hung by her fireplace. I assumed it was an Irish saying as a shamrock also decorated the tile.
We clinked glasses and I took a sip of that fine bourbon, curious about her news.”
Holly sidled up next to me and lay her head on my thigh. I petted her silky head and she looked up at
me with sad eyes. “And your news is?”
“Work.”
Uh-oh.
“I’ve been offered a great opportunity.”
“How so?”
“Remember I told you Tony Franco was retiring at the end of the year?”
“Yeah.”
“They offered me his job.”
Okay, I hadn’t really listened that intently when it came to her work stories. I don’t think I ever remembered her mentioning the guy and had no idea what he did. I bluffed. “So, what does this mean for you?”
“More money, for one, but I’d also be doing some traveling.”
Major uh-oh.
“When would you start?”
“They want Tony to start training me right after Thanksgiving. But get this, I get to fly out to our San Diego office on Monday to spend a week out there getting to know the personnel and how I’d be interfacing with the Buffalo contingent.”
“How often will you have to travel?” I asked, although I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know.
“I’ll probably be gone at least a week every month—sometimes two.”
I looked down at the dog, who looked sadder than ever.
“What about Holly? What happens to her when you’re traveling?”
“She’ll either stay with Sandy and her family, or in a kennel.”
Holly closed her eyes and let loose with a doggy sigh that sure didn’t sound at all contented. I smoothed her fur again, feeling sorry for her. Sandy’s kids were young and rambunctious, and I never got the feeling she was a dog person. And a kennel? That was like sentencing the poor dog to prison. As it was, Maggie dropped the dog off at doggy day care while she worked. Her ex-mother-in-law had babysat the dog until the previous year, a relationship that had been mutually satisfying, until the old lady had had a stroke and went to live with Maggie’s ex in Florida.
I took a deep hit on my bourbon. “Wow—that’s a lot of news to digest.”
Her eyes practically sparkled. “But isn’t it exciting?
That wasn’t my take on the situation. Still, I gave her a smile. It was what she wanted—me to be happy for her, but I saw this as yet another wedge that would come between us. In fact.… But before I could even finish the thought, Maggie got up.
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