by Joan Mauch
Today he was less concerned about salaries than he was about her safety. Since the gate was open, he drove in and glanced around the parking lot. Her car, a hot red Mazda, was there, covered in leaves and bird poop.
Jackson knew how proud Izzie was of that car. It had been a graduation gift from her parents. She took it to the car wash weekly; kept it in pristine condition. Parking his old car next to hers, he got out to have a closer look.
As he expected, the car was locked. Putting his hands up to the driver’s side window, he looked inside. Everything seemed fine. In fact, there was nothing to be seen at all—no fast-food wrappers or pop cans, nothing. Unlike his car, it was immaculate.
With a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, Jackson headed toward Izzie’s apartment. It was a second floor walkup. Taking the steps two at a time, he rang the bell, then when no one answered, he began pounding on the door and finally shouting, “Izzie. Izzie. It’s Jackson. Open up.”
A few seconds later, a woman next door poked her head out and said, “She’s not home. Haven’t seen her for about a week.”
“Do you know where she’s gone?” Jackson said.
When the woman hesitated, he added, “We work together and she hasn’t shown up for several days, I’m beginning to worry. Do you have any idea where she is?”
Scrutinizing him with her dark eyes, the woman shook her head. “I’m sorry but we keep pretty much to ourselves around here. Why don’t you go over to the office and see if they know anything?” She started to go back into her apartment, then turned and said, “I hope she’s all right. I enjoy watching her on the news. She’s so pretty.”
“That she is. Thanks for your help.”
Ten minutes later, a grumpy apartment manager asked him to tell “that girl to pick up her mail. Her box is overflowing and UPS dropped off several packages. Tell her that despite her impressions to the contrary, we are not—I emphasize not—her secretaries. Besides, you’re not the first person to come looking for her, you know. Several people have been around asking for her. Well, lemme tell you this: She might have servants at that TV station but I assure you she doesn’t have them here. And you can tell her that Mavis said so.” When she’d finished her tirade, her face was crimson, her hands twisting a tissue.
“So, you haven’t seen her then?” Jackson said, deliberately keeping his cool. Stupid bitch! There was nothing to be gained losing his temper with the only person who might know where to find Izzie.
“You got that right.”
“If you happen to see her, would you mind having her call me?” He offered his card.
“No, I’d be mighty happy to hold onto your card and ask her to give you a call if and when I see her next. With only two hundred residents, I don’t have another damned thing on my mind except to watch out for her.” With that she took Jackson’s card, tossed it in the wastebasket and went back to her desk.
Not knowing where else to look for his partner, Jackson headed home, a prickle of dread in the back of his throat
****
“So, you have a tough day?” Zac threw the question at Jackson over a supper of fried chicken, pasta, mixed peas and carrots and a tossed salad.
“Not especially. Why?”
“You’re so quiet. I thought maybe something was wrong. Wanna talk about it?”
Jackson was surprised at Zac’s concern. Maybe Mom was right, the change of scenery seemed to actually be doing his brother some good. Not wanting to interrupt the good vibes between them, Jackson decided to share.
“It’s probably nothing, but while I was back home, my reporter seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. She hasn’t been at work for over a week now and nobody knows where she is. What’s worse, at least in my opinion, is that no one but me seems concerned. I mean, what if she’s sick or something happened to her?”
He stopped talking and waited for his brother to make some kind of sarcastic remark, reminding him how he always jumped to conclusions which invariably turned out to be wrong.
Much to his surprise, Zac listened intently, then leaned in and said, “Anyone report it to the police?”
Jackson thought for a moment. “Now that you mention it, I don’t think so. My boss assumed she walked off the job. Said it happens all the time and not to worry about it, but I don’t think Izzie would do that. She loves the job. Besides if she’s gone, why’s her car still in the parking lot outside her apartment?”
“I don’t know.” Zac scratched the stubble on his face. “You said neither a neighbor nor the apartment manager have seen her and that her mail’s piling up?”
Jackson nodded.
“Then something’s not right, bro. Let’s drive over and see what we can find out.”
****
An hour later they were at the police station filling out a “missing person’s” report. There was little information Jackson could provide other than what Izzie had told him about herself. Leaving Morris Stone’s phone number and asking to be notified if they learned anything, they returned home no wiser than before.
Chapter 24
The next morning at the TV station, Jackson was about to head out the door, camera in hand, when the unmistakable sound of Morris Stone’s gravelly voice stopped him.
“Taylor. Over here.” The man didn’t sound pleased.
Mentally ticking off the stories he’d covered the previous day, Jackson couldn’t imagine what the problem was. It wasn’t unusual for someone to call in complaining. They’d expected to be in a story that hadn’t run. The photographer—in this case, Jackson, made them look bad, or didn’t get the story right, or misquoted them or…you name it. Usually management blew it off saying complaints came with the territory. But Stone’s tone of voice said the mistake was significant. With a sinking feeling, Jackson set the camera down and headed for his boss’ office.
“You wanted me?” Jackson summoned up his most innocent expression, hoping to minimize the damage.
“Close the door.”
Whatever it was, Jackson was certain it wouldn’t end with a compliment like the last time. He’d scarcely managed to sit down when he was pummeled with the gruff tone his boss used when he was angry.
“The police came to see me this morning,” he began. Before Jackson had a chance to react, he added, “Wanna know who gave them my phone number? Oh, yeah, that would be you.”
Since there seemed to be no question involved, Jackson thought it best to keep his mouth shut.
“So, now, I gotta ask why my photographer goes out and reports one of my employees missing and makes it look like I don’t give a crap. Can you answer me that?”
Jackson was about to respond, when Morris Stone continued. “They questioned me for half an hour, like I was somehow responsible for her. How am I supposed to know why some ditsy broad quits? For all I know she met the man of her dreams and went riding off into the sunset.”
The longer he talked, the more animated he became until Jackson feared the man would strike him. He clutched the sides of the chair and waited.
“Now I ask you, Jackson, why would you deliberately go out and do something like that? Tell me that ’cause I gotta say, I don’t understand.”
Jackson’s mouth was bone dry making speech difficult. He licked his lips. “I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble, it wasn’t my intention.”
“If? The man says—if he caused me any trouble. The police treated me like I was some kind of damned suspect. We don’t even know if the girl’s missing or holed up somewhere with her latest squeeze.”
When Jackson didn’t say anything, he continued, “Well, we don’t know, do we? Or is there something you’re aware of—and if so, speak up.”
“Uh, well, it’s just that things don’t add up, that’s all.” Jackson said.
“What things would that be?”
“Well, for instance, her car’s in the parking lot of her apartment and it’s covered with leaves and bird droppings.”
“So?”
&
nbsp; “So, Izzie loves that car. She’d never allow it to be in that condition. I know for a fact she wouldn’t.”
Morris Stone heaved a sigh. “That’s all you’ve got? A car covered with bird shit? You filled out a missing person’s report because of that?”
“Not only that. Her apartment manager said her mail hasn’t been picked up for over a week, said it’s piling up. If she was leaving town, wouldn’t she have put a hold on her mail?”
“Not necessarily. I would, but young people don’t always think about stuff like mail and notifying bosses when they leave town.” His tone of voice softened a bit as he leaned in toward Jackson.
“Look, I know you mean well. You’re concerned about your partner. You come back from your father’s funeral and she’s not around. Anyone in your shoes would be concerned. We were too. We did everything we could: called her apartment, checked the contacts on her emergency-call list, left messages on her cell, everything.
“No, we didn’t contact the police and maybe we shoulda. It just didn’t seem warranted. Even the police admitted that if someone wants to walk off the job and disappear, they have every right to do so. There’s no law that says they have to give their employer proper notice. Last I checked it was still a free country and people can come and go as they like.”
Jackson listened intently, nodding in agreement, but in his mind he kept hearing Izzie tell him how she’d started seeing that guy from the balcony. Should he tell his boss about that or keep it to himself?
Morris Stone was wrapping up his tirade. “Now unless you have something more to tell me, I’d advise you to put Isabelle Campbell out of your mind for once and for all. The girl has moved on, and if you value your job, you should too. Capisce?” He stood up signally the discussion was over. There was nothing more to be said.
Chapter 25
It was after three in the morning and despite his best efforts Leon Donatello was still awake. Even Tiny’s rhythmic snoring from his corner on the floor hadn’t made him the least bit drowsy the way it usually did.
Having spent the day working to ensure the products’ enclosures were secure, he was dog-tired, but simply couldn’t get Izzie off his mind. The harder he tried, the more wide awake he became. Finally, with the red numbers on the clock approaching four, he decided to get up and start his day.
Measuring grounds into the coffeemaker, he wondered for what seemed like the hundredth time why Izzie couldn’t have just stayed out of his business: why she had to start asking questions and showing up like that. He had grown to care for her, damn it. Had let himself become vulnerable for maybe the first time in his life. Why’d she have to go and ruin it?
Grounds overran the top of the filter as he’d continued to obsess over his ruined relationship.
“Son of a bitch!” he shouted to the empty room, adding two more swearwords for good measure.
Then the oddest thing happened: Leon Donatello, the tough guy who wasn’t afraid of anybody or anything—except maybe Seymour Cottingham—began to bawl. It wasn’t a brief emotion-filled breakdown either; it was the real thing.
Leon’s torrent of heart-wrenching sobs left his face awash in tears which poured down his cheeks and onto his boxers. Unable or unwilling to exercise control over his imagination, the love of his life appeared before him looking every bit as lovely as the last time he saw her. That evening her skin had seemed almost translucent in the moonlight; her smile dazzled him. It never occurred to him their relationship would end the way it did. His mournful lament was that of a grief-stricken man who would not be comforted.
“Izzie,” he cried, “Why’d you have to go and be so damned stupid? I miss you.” he buried his face in his hands and wept until he had no tears left. Only then did he become aware of Tiny at his side, nuzzling his foot with his nose.
Baffled and angered by vulnerable feelings with which he had no experience, Leon picked up a plate from the counter and threw it as hard as he could at the nearest wall. The violent sound of shattering china startled Tiny who tore from the room and took shelter under the nearest bed.
Chapter 26
Zac listened intently as Jackson recounted the dressing-down he’d received earlier that day. “So your boss isn’t the least bit concerned about your reporter? That what you’re saying?” The incredulous expression on the older brother’s face said it all. How could it be that one’s employer would be so dismissive of what might be the disappearance of a member of his staff?
Jackson shrugged. “I don’t know, but that’s the way it looks. He said they’d done everything to contact her and then just assumed she’d quit. I guess it never occurred to them she might’ve met with foul play.”
They were sitting in the living room waiting for supper to finish cooking.
“Is that what you think—that something bad happened to her?” Zac leaned in, his body language took on a more serious posture together with his uncharacteristically somber expression.
Jackson hesitated a few seconds as if reluctant to state what to him was obvious. He realized his reputation for jumping to conclusions was as well-known at work as it was among his family and friends. It made him all the more hesitant to raise concerns like this. But Zac seemed open to the possibility that something had indeed happened to Izzie. Besides, at this point, he could turn to no one else.
“Okay, yes, I think she’s in serious trouble—maybe even dead.” The word “dead” came out in a near whisper as emotion surged inside him.
Zac took a pull on his beer bottle, swallowed and then said, “What makes you think that?”
“Two things: from the research I did on human trafficking, I found out it’s going on here in Tampa—right under the noses of law enforcement and little or nothing’s being done about it. During a shoot we witnessed a young girl being yanked off a balcony by a man she was obviously afraid of and Izzie, in her misguided desire to become an investigative reporter, first staked out the place and then, of all things, started going out with the guy.”
“And you know that how?” Zac’s forehead was a mass of wrinkles.
“She told me he’d asked her out for a drink. Then I saw her with him at the beach. She said she’d been to his house and the girl, who he claimed was his niece, was gone. She got furious when I suggested she might be playing with fire; said she was a grown woman and for me to mind my own business.”
“Well, there it is. The little shit told you to back off. Whatever happens or happened to her serves her right.” Zac leaned back in the chair and put his feet on the cluttered cocktail table. When Jackson remained silent, he added, “You agree?”
“I know you and Stone are right, still I can’t help feeling something’s really wrong here. Zac, if it was me would you shrug your shoulders and walk away? Well, would you?”
“No, but you’re my brother and my job’s not on the line. Didn’t your boss pretty much say if you didn’t let it go you’d be fired?”
Jackson nodded.
“So, what choice do you have? We reported it to the police, so I say let them do their job. Hey, if it’d make you feel any better I’ll stop by the police station tomorrow and see if they found out anything. That is,” he threw a sly grin in Jackson’s direction, “if you loan me that old beater you like to call your car.”
Chapter 27
“That girl’s not missing,” the cop at the desk insisted.
Giving the man a skeptical look, Zac said, “But do you know for a fact nothing happened? I mean, doesn’t it seem odd she’d leave without saying a word to her boss, her partner or her apartment manager? Just leave her fancy car to the elements? Not bother to forward her mail? Doesn’t any of that sound the least bit suspicious?”
“Happens all the time. Man, if we chased down every person who decided to fly the coup, that’s all we’d be doing.” The policeman scratched the bald spot on his head. When it became obvious Zac wasn’t satisfied, he added, “We checked with the family. They weren’t especially concerned; said she’s taken off befor
e only to show up in a week or so. Unless you provide us with evidence of foul play, there’s nothing to investigate.”
Zac reluctantly agreed with the cop. Besides, he knew his brother was prone to jumping to conclusions. He’d been like that ever since he was little.
He recalled the time Jackson was absolutely sure Zac had been “kidnapped” and told his teacher, who went to the principal, who in turn reported it to the police. By the time they were finished, half the town was searching for him.
Imagine the furor when he returned home at the “usual” time, having played hooky. He’d been punished royally and didn’t speak to Jackson for a week.
With nothing better to do and in possession of Jackson’s old heap of a car, he decided to head over to Ybor City. It was where Jackson had spotted that girl on the balcony. Besides, Ybor was supposedly a tourist attraction. After being cooped up in the apartment for several days, he could use the distraction, even if it meant watching someone roll cigars in a storefront.
Zac turned off Seventh Avenue and found a parking spot. He figured if he walked the area he could check out the house without calling attention to himself. The place wasn’t hard to find. Jackson had played the videotape for him so many times he recognized it immediately: There it was—the two-story house with the balcony.
Zac bent down as though to tie a loose shoelace, then glanced around acting nonchalant. The property’s front yard with its ankle-high grass and half dead bushes seemed embarrassed to be seen. Shades gave the place an unfriendly vibe, preventing even the slightest peek inside. Security bars, the decorative type, enclosed each and every window. It made the house appear charming—in a European sort of way. Still, if the man inside had something or someone to hide, that would be a perfect way to do it.