by Robin Lyons
“She was sexually assaulted.”
“Oh, my gosh. That’s horrible. Did they catch the guy?”
“Not yet.”
“Brandi’s father asked me to help him figure out who assaulted her.”
‘Mac—”
He held up his hand.
“I know what you’re going to say. Her parents should have reported the crime. He doesn’t want to involve the police.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t act on any of this. Okay?”
“Okay. But, we’re good at catching bad guys.”
“I agree. Brandi’s not my daughter, and I don’t have children so I can’t judge her father’s wishes.”
“Fair enough.”
“The assault happened at a party at Fred Collins’s home.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Oh, shit.”
“Exactly. They have an annual party in January.”
She nodded. “I’ve been to their parties a couple times. Drinking, eating, swimming. More drinking.”
The story as Mac knew it rushed from his mouth. Monica was a good listener. Once they set the parameters for the conversation, she didn’t interject her opinion. Until Mac arrived at the newfound information about the chatting website.
“I’m a techie person. We could create a profile together so you can see what goes on in there.”
“Really? You’d help me with that?”
“Sure. We’d need to set it up like we’re a teenager from a high school in another area.”
“Yeah.” Mac’s mind raced.
“Should we be a boy or a girl?” She tapped her two fingers on her chin, contemplating.
“Hmmm. Good question.”
“I’d say a boy if you want to spy on Brandi. A girl if you want to try to lure the guy. Do you know if he’s on the chat room site?”
Mac passed his hand over his head. “Are you kidding me? I just learned about the chat thing. I don’t even know if Brandi’s on there.”
“Can you ask her father?”
“Absolutely.”
Mac texted Scott: Hey Scott, it’s Mac. Do you know if Brandi goes onto a website called DayJabber to converse with her friends?
Scott: Nope. I’ll ask her. Hang tight.
“He’s going to ask her.”
Monica nodded. “I’ve got to use the little girl’s room. Be right back.”
Mac watched her walk away but felt as if he were ogling, so he turned away before she caught him.
The screen on his cell phone lit up.
Scott: Yes. She uses it.
Mac: Does she know you asked me to help you find the guy?
Scott: Sorta. She knows I have someone looking into what happened. She doesn’t know it’s you.
Mac: I’m going to create a fake profile and pretend to be a teenager on the website. She won’t know it’s me. I’ll tell you what I find out.
Scott: Thanks.
Monica slid back onto her side of the booth.
“Brandi goes on the site. I told Scott I was going to make a fake profile and snoop around.”
“Did you tell him I’d help?”
“No. I will but in person, not in a text. He doesn’t want anyone to know we’re trying to solve the case on our own.”
Mac paid the bill and gave Monica the napkin he’d written his address on.
“That’s a quiet neighborhood. We seldom get calls from there.”
“One reason I bought it.”
He and Monica maneuvered around tables and servers as they made their way to the exit. Mac saw a family from Blackstone Academy and said hello. The cold air was a slap to his face when he pushed open the door and held it for Monica.
Mac ‘introduced’ her to Roxy who got in as many licks to Monica’s hand as she could.
Chapter 42
He kept an eye on Monica in his rearview mirror. He knew she wouldn’t lose him, Brookfield, a small town, has one roundabout and one traffic signal between the restaurant and Mac’s house.
She followed him down his driveway to the garage.
He hit the button to close the gate at the end of his driveway.
After Mac disarmed the alarm, he, Monica and Roxy checked the house. Feeling satisfied, he fed Roxy and showed Monica to his secret gun room through the back wall of his closet.
As she waited for him to access the room, Monica said, “I don’t typically let a man take me to his bedroom closet on the first date.” She winked.
He laughed.
They entered his secret room. She stood in the small room and looked all around. “I’m impressed. Did you have this installed?”
“Nope. The previous owner was a doomsday prepper.”
“It’s cool. If I ever get out of my condominium, I’m adding a secret doomsday room to my renovations. I have a friend who had a cement bunker constructed before he had his house built. The house sits atop the bunker.”
“Is it a bomb shelter?”
“No, more like a basement, but the door isn’t obvious.”
Sensing the bunker had ended, he logged onto the Internet. “I’ll get another chair. It’s usually just Roxy and me in here. Would you like something to drink? Another beer?”
“Just water.”
Mac passed Roxy on the stairs as she scurried up. She did an about-face and followed him downstairs. He grabbed a beer, a bottled water, and a chair before he headed back to the secret room.
With Roxy on his heels, Mac reentered the gun room, placed the chair near Monica and handed her the bottled water.
“Thanks. I like your gun collection.”
He glanced at his handguns stored in pouches hanging on the wall.
“I have the same Desert Eagle,” she said with a shy grin. “You reload too?” She pointed to his table where his reloading machine was mounted alongside his powder scale, bags of seven and one-half shot, boxes of wads and primers. He also had a plastic tray with drawers filled with variously sized bushings. Tacked to the wall above the table was a reloading recipe chart.
“Reloading is something I do once in a while. I don’t shoot very often anymore.”
“I belong to the local gun club and shoot trap, she said.
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Do you shoot trap?”
“It’s been a while.”
“When you’re done catching Brandi’s assailant maybe we could get together at the range.”
“I’d like that.”
She turned to face the computer screen. “Okay. Are we a girl or a boy?”
“Let’s do one of each. Maybe we can hit it from both angles.”
“Oh yeah, good call.”
Mac watched as Monica began creating profiles for a teenage boy and girl.
“Let’s be traditional and do Mary and John. Nobody would suspect those names.
“I like it.”
She tapped on the keyboard, and before Mac knew it, they were in the system.
“Let’s have John look for Brandi.”
“Okay.”
They didn’t see Brandi online, so they went for Stu. He was more vulnerable and would be more likely to respond to an interested girl than Kevin would. Stu was, as anticipated, open to making a new female friend. It didn’t matter to him that she was in Missouri and he was in California.
Connecting with Stu allowed them to look at his list of friends and from there go into Brandi’s list of friends.
Brandi had plenty of guy friends. One by one they looked at each of the guy’s profiles. One stood out because he had one friend, Brandi. His name was CJ Wolfe.
Mac and Monica sat for several quiet minutes staring at CJ’s profile.
Monica broke the silence. “We can’t see what they’ve talked about because the comments are wiped every night.”
“Let’s send him a friend request from the girl and see if he takes the bait.”
“Okay.” A few clicks later it appeared their spy mission had come to an end. The only kid willing to chat with the
m was Stu.
Mac felt a little bit like a high school kid on his first date who didn’t know what to do next.
“I should head home. It’s getting late.”
“Thank you for helping me with this undercover operation. And for going to dinner with me.”
She nodded, stood and then stretched.
Mac seized the moment to hug her and gave her a gentlemanly kiss on the lips. “Do you work Sunday?”
“No. What’d you have in mind?”
“Feel like taking the dogs for a hike at the lake?”
“I’d love it, count me in. What time?”
“Is nine too late?”
“Perfect.”
He walked her outside to her car and then watched her taillights pull away as he closed the gate behind her.
By the time he’d chosen a Ramon Allones cigar and grabbed another beer from the fridge, Roxy lay asleep on her pad in the corner of the alcove. He jiggled the doorknob, and she jumped up ready to join him in the backyard.
From the back porch, he watched Roxy run around the backyard plowing both sides of her big snout along the cold damp grass. The city lights shone brightly since the moon had set, leaving darkness behind.
Mac texted his sister: Are you still up?
Maggie: I’m reading in bed.
Mac: Guess what I did tonight?
Maggie: What?
Mac: I went on a date - sort of.
Maggie: Sort of?
Mac: A friendship date. But I think it could turn into more.
Maggie: You like her? What’s her name?
Mac: Officer Monica Tanner.
Maggie: A cop?
Mac: (smiley face Emoji)
Maggie: Bobby’s smiling.
Mac: I’m sure he is.
Maggie: Keep me up to date on how this progresses.
Mac: Will do. Night.
Maggie: (smiley face blowing a kiss Emoji)
Chapter 43
Crosby Nash took a deep breath as he parked his car next to his wife’s in the garage. After a second, he exhaled slow and easy. Unsure how tonight would go, but he wanted desperately to keep his marriage intact.
“Hi, babe,” he said as he turned the corner into the living room where his wife sat on the sofa. “You look beautiful.”
His wife, Kim, leaned back on the sofa with her feet up on the ottoman. Her enlarged midsection looked twice as big as it had when he’d left for work that morning.
“There’s nothing beautiful about me right now. I feel like a blimp. I don’t know about going to this mixer thing.”
“It’ll be fun. If you aren’t having a good time we can leave. Just say the word. I want you to see how great these kids do when they present a speech.”
“Okay. Help me up.” She held out her hand.
He pulled her up and into an embrace. “I think you look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” she said with a smirk.
“The baby’s sitting lower every day. The doctor said she’ll be here any day.”
Crosby helped her into her coat and then walked behind her to the garage door. He thought she seemed to waddle more than he’d noticed before. He’ll be happy when his wife had her pre-pregnant body and attitude back. He couldn’t keep up with her mood swings.
“Which do you feel like for dinner? American, Mexican, or Italian?” He helped her into the passenger seat.
“American.”
“Brookfield Bar & Grill it is.”
During dinner, Kim mostly talked about the baby and everything she still wanted to be done before the baby arrived.
Crosby was more interested in his rum and coke than baby talk.
Eventually, his wife ran out of things to say on that topic and asked him to explain the meaning of a mixer.
“The Chamber of Commerce hosts a get together for local business owners to meet one another. They serve appetizers and drinks.”
“How long after we arrive until your students give their speeches? I already feel tired.”
“They’ll do their speeches right away because they’re kids and can’t hang around once the adults start drinking. I’m excited for you to meet them and their parents.”
“MmHmm. You aren’t going to drink there, are you? In front of your students?”
“Since you put it that way, I guess not. I’ll wait until after the kids leave.”
“Are we staying that long?”
He breathed in slowly. “It’s entirely up to you. When you’re ready to leave, let me know.” He reached over and patted her hand.
Dinner had been less than pleasant for Crosby. Not like their date nights used to be before the pregnancy.
They were finally on their way to the Pavilion at the fairgrounds where the mixer was being held.
Crosby had fond memories of going with his wife to the Blackstone Academy Gala in years past. They didn’t attend this school year because Kim suffered from morning sickness—all day and night. Pre-pregnancy they ate, drank and danced until the band stopped playing. He grinned for several minutes at the fond memories.
He parked close to the door so Kim wouldn’t have to walk far. “Wait here.” He exited his side of the car. When he opened her door, she smiled. He hadn’t seen her smile in a long time. Maybe tonight will be nice after all.
Crosby kept his hand on his wife’s back as he guided her from person to person introducing her. After she met the last student and his parents, Crosby helped her to a table so she could sit down.
“My feet are so swollen. I wish I could put them up on a chair.”
“Please don’t. I promise I’ll give you a foot massage when we’re home.”
She groaned.
“The first student’s preparing to deliver his speech.”
“I’m sorry. I have to put my feet up. Pregnant women are allowed some concess—”
Their foot discussion was interrupted by Rosie, the owner of Rosie’s Deli. “Crosby, so nice to see you here tonight.”
Kim looked irritated by the intrusion.
Crosby quickly introduced the two women.
“Every time I deliver sandwiches to the school if I see Crosby, he always gives me an update on how your pregnancy’s going.”
Kim smiled. “That’s nice.” She softened her voice, “Do you think it would be okay for me to put my feet up on this vacant chair?”
Crosby’s eyes narrowed, the pressure building in his head.
“Absolutely.” Rosie turned the chair to face Kim. She helped her lift her feet to the chair. “Oh honey, look at how swollen your poor feet are.”
“Thank you,” Kim replied in a friendly tone.
After Rosie had walked far enough away to not overhear, Crosby leaned into his wife and said through clenched teeth, “You’ve humiliated me by putting your feet on that chair.”
She shrugged. “Either the feet go up, or I go home. Take your pick.”
Crosby turned to face the podium and listen to the first student present his speech on ‘How to Minimize Theft From Shoplifting.’
The first speech, packed with statistics and evidence, lasted close to fifteen minutes. As the audience applauded, Crosby sat straighter, his chest filled with pride. He smiled. When he turned to his wife for validation that his student knocked it out of the park. She looked less than impressed.
His wife removed her feet from the chair and leaned toward him. “How many more speeches? I’m ready to go home.”
“There’s only one more. It won’t be long.”
She raised an eyebrow and tapped her hand on the table. “That’s it. When the next one’s done, so am I.” She hoisted her feet back onto the chair, leaned back and crossed her arms.
Crosby slowly inhaled a deep breath.
Chapter 44
Students and parents spent the morning decorating the gymnasium for the Winter Ball. Nothing short of magic, the room had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Long strips of fabric ran from one side of the gym to the other, a good twenty feet in the
air but not quite to the ceiling. Snowflakes, disco-type balls, and shining lights shaped like snowflakes suspended from the ceiling hung throughout the room.
As best as Mac could tell, the room had been divided into three sections. One area with round tables and chairs. In another, professional photographers with different backdrops for photos. And the last a large dance area.
The dim lights and the snowflakes put off a purplish-blue glow. The DJ checked sound, with the music already blaring. Mac was told most, if not all, the students would go to dinner before they arrived at the dance.
Regardless, parents still insisted on providing snacks, plenty of drinks, and several chocolate fountains.
Mac walked around the gymnasium pausing at the chocolate station. He shook his head. This is a recipe for disaster.
Two metal detection wands hung from his wrist. He looked around the beverage bar for any punch bowl type drinks begging for booze, or worse, to be added. Mac saw only closed containers—water bottles and soda pop. He approved.
Mac hadn’t attended any of his high school dances. He’d tried dating a girl once in high school but she insisted on meeting his parents, and that didn’t turn out well. While in the depths of his memory, Mac felt a tap on his shoulder. He hadn’t heard Crosby Nash approach him. Lack of his auditory sense would be a problem tonight.
“Hey,” he yelled and nodded. He jabbed his thumb toward the door indicating to Crosby he wanted to head outside. Crosby followed.
The two men cleared the exit and stood outside the door. The only door the kids were allowed to use during the dance unless an emergency arose. Then other doors would be available to evacuate.
“Is this your first school dance?” Crosby grinned.
“Yes. I take it—it’s not your first.”
“Correct. Most teachers hate chaperoning the dances. Since I don’t have kids—yet—I always volunteer.”
“I see. When’s the baby due?”
“Any day.”
Students began arriving by carloads.
Mac said to Crosby, “Can you help me check IDs?”
“Sure.” He shrugged.
“You scan the kids’ ID cards and do a cursory pat down of pockets, mainly boys. But if girls look suspicious, pat them down also. Use the top of your hand and never get near anyone’s crotch or a girl’s breasts. We have to assume they aren’t hiding a weapon in their underwear or bra. And make them lift their mask so you can compare their face to the ID.”