Gone without a Trace

by Patricia Bradley

  “Will you need fuel?”

  “Yes, but it can wait until morning.” He’d see how long he’d be in Logan Point before renting a hangar. Alex grabbed his bag, then ducked his head against the cold and hurried inside with Sam.

  “Sure thing. How long are you planning to be here?”

  That would depend on what he found out this afternoon. “I’m not sure, but can you tell me where I can find a car rental place?” As he’d flown in, he’d noticed there weren’t any businesses around the airport.

  Sam nodded his head in the direction of the front doors. “There’s a courtesy van you can use. It’s free for four hours if you think you can conduct your business and get it back by . . .” Sam checked his watch. “Seven—that’s when they close the terminal and everybody leaves.”

  “Thanks, but I believe I’ll go ahead and rent a car.”

  “The town is a ways down the road. Nearest car rental is probably eight, ten miles.” He handed him a card. “Call and they’ll pick you up and take you back to the agency.”

  Alex started to dial the number, but his curiosity got the best of him. “What happens if someone flies in and no one is here?”

  “Happened once before we staffed this place. A corporate big shot flew in and forgot to tell anyone he was coming, and he had to walk to town. Eight miles. In July. That was before cell phones.”

  Nice to know. Alex dialed the number and arranged for a car. After he disconnected, he freshened up in the restroom and then wandered around the nicely furnished waiting room in the terminal while he waited. He noted the sophisticated computer system and was once again impressed with the Logan Point airport.

  Sam pointed toward a wooden podium. “Appreciate if you’d sign our book. We like to keep up with where people come from, where they’re going.”

  Alex obliged, with Sam looking over his shoulder. When he finished, Sam nodded. “Texas. Thought I recognized that accent.”

  “Are you good on accents?”

  “Yep. There’s a young lady down at Molly’s Diner that talks like you.”

  His pulse quickened. That had to be the Woodson girl. “Do you know her?”

  “Samantha Jo? Just from the diner. She’s a real good waitress—never gets the orders messed up. Haven’t seen her this week, though. You family?”

  “Friend of the family. The last time you saw her, was she upset or anything?”

  “Naw, maybe a little jumpy. She’s a pretty little thing. Nothing’s happened to her, has it?”

  “Do you know if Samantha Jo had a boyfriend?”

  He shook his head. “Never saw her anywhere but at the diner and never heard anybody say she had a boyfriend. Of course, I wouldn’t know what she did when she worked at Johnny B’s.”

  “Johnny B’s?”

  “It’s a big truck stop on the other side of town near the bypass. You never did say if you thought something happened to her.”

  No, he hadn’t. The front door opened, and they both turned toward the sound. “That’s your car rental people.”

  “Thanks. Appreciate your help.”

  A late model blue Impala sat at the curb when Alex and the car rental agent exited. After he took care of the paperwork at the car rental agency, he used his GPS to find the sheriff’s department. That was something Dee had drilled into his head. Stop in and let the local law enforcement know what you’re doing in town. He’d done her one better by calling and talking with Sheriff Ben Logan before he left and making an appointment.

  Sheriff Logan’s handshake was firm but not bone crushing. That was always a good thing. Showed that the other person, often a law officer, didn’t have anything against PIs. The sheriff appeared to be in his early thirties, like Alex. “Thank you for giving me a little of your time, Sheriff Logan.” He took the chair offered. The office was larger than Dee’s back in Dallas, but the oak desk reminded him of hers. Several photos of an older man adorned the gray walls.

  “Call me Ben, unless you plan on breaking the law,” he said with a grin.

  “I don’t. Just trying to find out what happened to Samantha Jo Woodson for her folks.”

  “That was quick—them hiring a private detective.”

  “I don’t think it was any reflection on you . . . they’re just worried. Hiring our company makes them feel like they’re doing something.”

  “I can understand that,” Ben said, nodding. “Molly called me yesterday when she didn’t show up for the second day. Samantha Jo had worked for her a month and was always punctual, never called in sick. We went to her apartment and got the manager to let us in. It was neat, nothing out of place, and while I don’t know what all she had there, clothes were hanging in the closets, other stuff was in the drawers.”

  On the paperwork Alex had read, a mention was made of a church she attended. “Did anyone see her at church Sunday?”

  “She attended Center Hill, same place I go. I don’t remember seeing her, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t there.”

  “Do you know if she worked Sunday?”

  “Molly isn’t open on Sundays.” Ben stood. “Why don’t you follow me over to the diner? If I’m there, Molly might open up a little more than if you go by yourself. And while you talk with her, I’ll call around and ask if anyone saw Samantha Jo on Sunday.”

  Molly’s Diner was like the little diner down the road from the hangar back in Texas. Except there were no checkered tablecloths. Instead, Formica tables filled the diner and a row of stools with black vinyl seats fronted a counter—same family atmosphere, though. Molly sized him up as Ben introduced them. He thought even Ben’s introduction might not be enough until she stuck out her beefy hand. “I hope you can find that little girl.”

  “So do I,” he said as Ben excused himself to make the calls.

  “I feel bad about not calling someone ’til yesterday, but I didn’t want to hover too much.”

  After he questioned her about basic things and received the same answers he already knew, he tapped his pen on the tablet. “Do you know why she left the last place she worked?”

  “Johnny B’s?” Molly rolled her lips in. “Said she didn’t like the hours, but now that I think about it, she mentioned once about some guy that creeped her out. She never said that’s why she left, though.”

  Ben reentered the diner. “I can’t find anyone who saw her Sunday at church.”

  “So she may have been gone three days,” Alex said.

  “It’s beginning to look that way.” He turned to Molly. “Do you remember what she wore to work Saturday?”

  Molly frowned. “Jeans. I know because that’s all she ever wore, but I don’t remember about the top. Let me ask one of the other girls.” She turned to a tall blonde filling the salt and pepper shakers. “Lindsay, do you know what Samantha Jo wore to work Saturday?”

  The girl cocked her head and thought a minute. “She wore that pretty blue top. I wanted to get one like it, but she said it came from some shop in Texas. She acted like it might be expensive.”

  “Could you go with us to identify it if we find it?” Ben asked.

  “Samantha Jo wears some of the coolest clothes. I’d love to see in her closet.” The waitress shot a questioning glance at Molly, who nodded. “Let me take off my apron.”

  Outside the diner, Ben asked, “It’s not too cold, why don’t we walk? It’s only two blocks.”

  A few minutes later, as they neared an older apartment complex, Alex turned to Lindsay. “Did she have a car?”

  “An older model white Malibu,” the girl replied.

  The white Malibu sat in the apartment parking lot, but no blue top was found in her closet or anywhere else in the apartment.

  “I can’t believe she has three pairs of J Brand jeans.” Lindsay turned from the closet door, her eyes wide. “And look at this. A tie-dyed sweater from MSGM.”

  “MSGM?” Ben repeated.

  “It’s an expensive line of clothing,” Alex said. When Ben gave him a sidelong glance, Alex chuckled.
“It’s a brand that Nordstrom’s carries. My last girlfriend shopped there, and I accompanied her shopping sometimes. You wouldn’t believe the prices.”

  Ben rested his hand on his Glock. “That means she disappeared probably Saturday, either voluntarily—”

  Lindsay waved her arm toward the closet. “No woman in her right mind would go off and leave these clothes.”

  “So the possibility she was abducted is very real.” Alex swept his gaze around the room. Even with fresh paint, the apartment didn’t compare to what Samantha Jo was accustomed to. What was she doing in Logan Point in the first place? He shifted to face the waitress. “Did Samantha Jo mention why she came to Logan Point?”

  “I think she ran out of money and couldn’t afford to stay in Memphis.”

  That explained a lot. “Does Samantha Jo have any friends?”

  Lindsay shook her head. “When she first came to town—I think it was around Thanksgiving—she came into the diner with this cocky dude. He strutted around like a banty rooster. I thought he was her husband, but after she came to work here she told me he was just her boyfriend and that he left her high and dry right after Christmas.”

  “Does this guy have a name?” Ben asked.

  “Seems like she called him Cody.”

  “How about a last name?”

  Lindsay looked toward the ceiling. “Uh, Jones, no, maybe Smith . . . no . . . oh, wait, I remember—it was Wilson. One time he put their dinner on a credit card and it bounced and Molly said it bounced like a Wilson basketball. Then he paid with cash. Cody Wilson.”

  “Do you know if she knows any of her neighbors in the apartment complex?”

  “Only me. I live three apartments from here, and the units on either side of her are empty.”

  So no one would have heard a scuffle in the apartment, probably not even a scream. Maybe Molly still had the receipts, and he could track the Wilson boy down. But at least he had a few leads, and someone back in Texas should know if she dated this Wilson kid there.

  Ben locked the apartment, and they walked back to the diner, where Molly told them she’d get her accountant to find the credit card receipt. As they walked to their cars, Alex sifted through the information he’d learned. “This Johnny B’s—what kind of truck stop is it?”

  “It’s a big trucker plaza. Nice hotel with a pool, two restaurants, one with twenty-five-dollar steaks, the other more like Molly’s only updated with a coffee shop. There’s a nightclub and a separate sports bar on the other end of the plaza. He leases everything out except the original diner and coffee shop. A lot of truckers and tourists as well stop at Johnny B’s because of the easy access, good beds, and even better food. Where are you staying?”

  “A bed and breakfast. The Potter’s House, I think. I have the address in my GPS.”

  Ben gave him a strange look.

  “What, is it a bad place?”

  “Oh, not at all. Kate Adams is a great cook and her place is really nice. It’s just something I remembered. Her daughter Robyn left town a little over two years ago, and no one’s heard from her, except for one note and a phone call. She worked at Johnny B’s.”

  Mac wasn’t the only one to see Livy’s failure. Captain Reed pulled off his headphones. “My office. Thirty minutes.”

  Livy nodded and removed her safety glasses and headphones, avoiding Mac’s eyes.

  “Olivia, I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t want Mac’s pity. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

  “I wasn’t saying it was, only that I know how much being a detective means to you.”

  No, he didn’t. She’d thought he did, thought that he was like her—being a Memphis homicide detective was the only life she had. But he had Julie now, and she had . . . nothing. Did she even know who she was if she couldn’t be a detective? She stuffed the headphones in her bag. Failure. The word chased itself through her head. She swallowed down the lump in her throat that threatened to choke her.

  Mac put his hand on her arm. “There’s no shame in being human. Give yourself time to work through the December shooting. You’ll get your confidence back. I know you will.”

  At least he was still her cheerleader. She raised her gaze and caught him checking his watch. “Thanks. Go on and meet Julie. I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “Come on and we’ll walk out together.”

  “No. I need a few minutes by myself before I meet with Reed.”

  “I’ll check on you later today, okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. My aunt in Logan Point invited me to dinner, and it may be late before I get home.” Questions swirled through Livy’s mind, questions she wasn’t sure she wanted answers to. She stared at her shoes. “Who do you think they’ll partner you with?”

  “It’ll only be temporary, Olivia. You’re my partner.”

  But what if it wasn’t temporary?

  With the sun setting behind her, Livy left her apartment and joined the rest of downtown Memphis headed east. She ran her hand through her hair and then glanced in her rearview mirror. Switching from dress clothes to jeans and a pullover wasn’t the only change she’d made after leaving Reed’s office. At least going from blonde to strawberry blonde wasn’t as drastic as whacking her long hair off.

  The earlier meeting with Reed had gone the way she expected. He’d given her two options. Take a leave or man a desk. Either way, she had to pass a psychological eval and a firing test before she resumed her duties as Mac’s partner. She was to let him know in the morning which it would be.

  Could she even sit behind a desk all day again? For six weeks after the Caine shooting, she monitored security cameras, a job straight from purgatory. But monitoring cameras was better than entering other detectives’ notes into the computer. She didn’t think she could bear to see what the others were doing and not be a part of it.

  Livy took the Bill Morris Parkway and joined even more cars. She should have waited forty minutes to let traffic move out, but Kate served dinner at six sharp, and she didn’t want to be late.

  The Potter’s House Bed and Breakfast. And below that sign another proclaimed Kate’s Pottery Shop. That explained the name of the bed and breakfast. Alex turned into the drive and studied the two-story house through the bare limbs of a gnarled oak tree. An old house, probably predating the Civil War. He liked the gables and the wooden structure, but he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t prefer a hotel over staying in someone’s home. But for whatever reason, this was where Dee put him, and he was eager to talk with the owner about her daughter. She just might not be eager to talk with him.

  A cold north wind accompanied him up the steps to the front door. It opened before he rang the bell. “Mrs. Adams?”

  “Kate,” she corrected. “Come on in out of the cold.”

  The aroma of bread baking tickled Alex’s nose as he stepped through the doorway and set his suitcase down in the warm foyer. Kate Adams wasn’t quite what he expected. Jeans and a man’s white shirt erased the image of a matronly innkeeper in a flowered dress and sensible shoes. Although she did have the sensible shoes. And while she appeared to be in her early sixties, matronly was never a word that would be associated with the woman wearing her hair in a long braid down her back.

  “Would you like to look around the house before I show you to your room?”

  “Sure.” He followed her into a paneled room filled with books.

  “This is obviously the library,” she said. “Feel free to read anything in here—some of these books date back to when I was a child in the early fifties. Three or four of them belonged to my mother.”

  “I doubt I’ll have time to read while I’m here, but it’s a beautiful room.” He followed her to the formal dining room, then into the kitchen.

  “Supper is every night at six, and there’s no extra charge.” A bell dinged, and she opened the oven and took out two golden loaves of bread. “Most of the time it’s just me and my husb
and, Charlie. But tonight my niece is joining us, along with my son-in-law and granddaughter.”

  “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “You won’t be. They’re used to my guests joining the dinner table.”

  His stomach reminded him he’d skipped lunch. “Then I accept.”

  He glanced at his watch as he retrieved his suitcase from the foyer, then followed her upstairs. Only an hour until supper and he’d wanted to ask about her daughter. But one of the first things he’d discovered as an investigator was that asking questions before establishing a little bit of rapport usually netted less information. And who knew where the conversation might go around the dinner table.

  “I’m putting you in the Porcelain room. It’s connected to a bathroom, and usually I remind my guests to knock before entering, but seeing how no one else is here, it won’t be necessary.”

  “Porcelain room?” Alex said.

  “I thought it would be appropriate to name my rooms after different types of pottery. There are several porcelain pieces in here.” She opened the door and waited for him to enter. “It was originally my oldest daughter’s room.”

  The daughter who went missing? Alex caught the words while they were still a thought, and instead, scanned the bedroom that held a dark cherry double bed and matching chest. He pointed to an openwork jar with a lid. “Did you make this?”

  “I did. Anything ceramic in the house, I probably made.” She tilted her head slightly. “When your boss called, she said you were a private investigator.”

  “I am.” Alex waited, sensing more than idle curiosity.

  “I want to hire you to find my daughter.”

  “Mrs. Adams, I’m already working—”

  “It’s Kate, and it wouldn’t take much of your time.”

  This was more than he bargained for. True, he’d hoped to discuss the missing daughter, but he hadn’t expected her mother to want to hire him. “Why don’t I put my things away, and then we’ll discuss this further downstairs?”

  Kate smiled. “Great.”

  Something told him Kate wouldn’t take no for an answer, and while he had initially thought the two cases were related, until he heard the whole story, he wouldn’t know. If he decided they weren’t, he’d have to turn her down, at least until he found Samantha Jo.